JjMAL, 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


BEQUEST  OF 


THE  LEOPARD'S   SPOTS 


'TWO      THOUSAND      MEN      WENT      MAD." 


Can  the  Ethiopian  change  his  skin  or  the  leopard  his 

THE 
LEOPARD'S  SPOTS 

A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  WHITE 
MAN:S    BURDEN  — 1865-1900 

BY 
THOMAS  DIXON,  JR. 

Author  of  "  The  One  Woman  " 
ILLUSTRATED  BY  C.  D.  WILLIAMS 


NEW  YORK 

A.  WESSELS   COMPANY 
1906 


Copyright,  1904,  bjr 
nbleday,  Page  &  Compaay 


AM  rlgblt  rtstrved 
Published,  March  3,  190* 


PRESS  OF 

BRAUNWORTH  &  CO. 

BOOKBINDERS  AND  PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN,  N.  Y. 


TO 

HARRIET 

SWBBT-VOICED   DAUGHTER  OP   THE1 
OLD-FASHIONED  SOUTH 


Historical  Note 


IN  answer  to  hundreds  of  letters,  I  wish  to  say  that  all  the 
incidents  used  in  Book  I.,  which  is  properly  the  prologue  of 
my  story,  were  selected  from  authentic  records,  or  came 
within  my  personal  knowledge. 

The  only  serious  liberty  I  have  taken  with  history  is  to 
tone  down  the  facts  to  make  them  credible  in  fiction.  The 
village  of  "  Hambright "  is  my  birthplace,  and  is  located 
near  the  center  of  "  Military  District  No.  2,"  comprising 
the  Carolinas,  which  were  destroyed  as  States  by  an  Act  of 
Congress  in  1867.  It  will  be  a  century  yet  before  people 
outside  the  South  can  be  made  to  believe  a  literal  statement 
of  the  history  of  those  times. 

I  tried  to  write  this  book  with  the  utmost  restraint. 

THOMAS  DIXON,  JR. 

MAY  9,  1902, 

ELMINGTON  MANOR, 

DIXONDALE,  VA. 


CONTENTS 

BOOK  I 


CHAPTER  PAGB 

I.  A  HERO  RETURNS       ......        3 

II.  A  LIGHT  SHINING  IN  DARKNESS        ...       19 

III.  DEEPENING   SHADOWS  .....       30 

IV.  MR.  LINCOLN'S  DREAM         .....       34 
V.  THE  OLD  AND  THE  NEW  CHURCH       ...       38 

VI.  THE  PREACHER  AND  THE  WOMAN  OF  BOSTON     .       44 
VII.  THE  HEART  OF  A  CHILD       .....       52 

VIII.  AN   EXPERIMENT  IN  MATRIMONY          ...       58 
IX.  A  MASTER  OF  MEN       ......       63 

X.  THE  MAN  OR  BRUTE  IN  EMBRYO        ...       72 
XI.  SIMON  LEGREE      .......       84 

XII.  RED  SNOWDROPS  .......       94 

XIII    DICK     .........99 

XIV.  THE  NEGRO  UPRISING   .         .        .        .        .        .     101 

XV.  THE  NEW  CITIZEN  KING      .....     105 

XVI.  LEGREE  SPEAKER  OF  THE  HOUSE    .         .         .         .no 

XVII.  THE  SECOND  REIGN  OF  TERROR    ....     119 

XVIII.  THE  RED  FLAG  OF  THE  AUCTIONEER   .         .         .131 
XIX.  THE  RALIY  OF  THE  CLANSMEN     ....     144 

XX.  How  CIVILISATION  WAS  SAVED   ....     155 

XXI.  THE  OLD  AND  THE  NEW  NEGRO     ....     165 

XXII.  THE  DANGER  OF  PLAYING  WITH  FIRE       .        .     167 

XXIII.  THE  BIRTH  OF  A  SCALAWAG       .        .        .        .173 

XXIV.  A  MODERN  MIRACLE     .....        .178 


Contents  —  Continued 
BOOK  II 

'0  SDttam 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  BLUE  EYES  AND  BLACK  HAIR      ....  187 

II.  THE  VOICE  OF  THE  TEMPTER      .         .         .      -  .  195" 

III.  FLORA            ......         .  202 

IV.  THE   ONE  WOMAN        ......  208 

V.  THE  MORNING  OF  LOVE       .         .         .         .         .215 

VI.  BESIDE   BEAUTIFUL  WATERS        ....  223 

VII.  DREAMS  AND  FEARS      ......  236 

VIII.  THE  UNSOLVED  RIDDLE       .....  242 

IX.  THE  RHYTHM  OF  THE  DANCE       ....  246 

X.  THE   HEART   OF   A   VILLAIN         .         .         .         .258 

XI.  THE   OLD,    OLD   STORY         .....  267 

XII.  THE  Music  OF  THE  MILLS     .....  280 

XIII.  THE  FIRST  Kiss    .......  286 

XIV.  A  MYSTERIOUS  LETTER       .....  290 
XV.  A  BLOW  IN  THE  DARK    ......  294 

XVI.  THE  MYSTERY  OF  PAIN       .....  304 

XVII.  Is  GOD  OMNIPOTENT?           .....  309 

XVIII.  THE  WAYS  OF  BOSTON        .....  313 

XIX.  THE  SHADOW  OF  A  DOUBT     .....  320 

XX.  A  NEW  LESSON  IN  LOVE      .....  323 

XXI.  WHY   THE    PREACHER   THREW   HIS   LIFE   AWAY  331 

XXII.  THE  FLESH  AND  THE  SPIRIT       ....  340 


Contents — Concluded  xiii 
BOOK  III 

Wbt  <2TnaI  bp  jFit* 

CHAPTER  PAGB 

I.  A  GROWL  BENEATH  THE  EARTH     ....  350 

II.  FACE   TO    FACE   WITH   FATE         ....  355 

III.  A  WHITE  LIE       .         .         .         .  -                 .         .  365 

IV.  THE  UNSPOKEN  TERROR       .....  368 
V.  A  THOUSAND-LEGGED  BEAST        ....  376 

VI.  THE  BLACK  PERIL 385 

VII.  EQUALITY   WITH   A   RESERVATION         .         .         .  389 

VIII.  THE  NEW  SIMON  LEGREE     .....  399 

IX.  THE  NEW  AMERICA      ......  408 

X.  ANOTHER  DECLARATION   OF   INDEPENDENCE        .  413 
XI.  THE  HEART  OF  A  WOMAN     .         .         .         .         .421 

XII.  THE  SPLENDOUR  OF  SHAMELESS  LOVE        .         .  427 

XIII.  A  SPEECH  THAT  MADE  HISTORY    ....  435 

XIV.  THE    RED    SHIRTS         ......  449 

XV.  THE  HIGHER  LAW        .         .         .         .         .         .451 

XVI.  THB  END  OF  A  MODERN  VILLAIN       .         .         .  459 

XVII.  WEDDING  BELLS  IN  THE  GOVERNOR'S  MANSION  461 


LEADING  CHARACTERS  OF  THE  STORY 


Scene:     The  Foothills   of  North   Carolina — Boston — New    York 
Time:     From  1865  to  1900 

CHARLES  GASTON Who  dreams  of  a  Governor's  Mansion 

SALLIE  WORTH A  daughter  of  the  old-fashioned  South 

GEN.  DANIEL  WORTH Her  father 

MRS.  WORTH Sallie's  mother 

THE  REV.  JOHN  DURHAM.  .  .  .  A  preacher  who  threw  his  life  away 
MRS.  DURHAM.  .Of  the  Southern  Army  that  never  surrendered 

TOM  CAMP A  one-legged  Confederate  soldier 

FLORA Tom's  little  daughter 

SIMON  LEGREE Ex-slave  driver  and  Reconstruction  leader 

ALLAN  McL/EOD A  scalawag 

HON.  EVERETT  LOWELL Member  of  Congress  from  Boston 

HELEN  LOWELL His  daughter 

Miss  SUSAN  WALKER A  maiden  of  Boston 

MAJOR  STUART  DAMERON Chief  of  the  Ku  Klux  Klan 

HOSE  NORMAN A  dare-devil  poor  white  man 

NELSE A    black    hero    of    the    old    regime 

AUNT  EVE His  wife — "a  respectable  woman" 

HON.  TIM  SHELBY Political  boss  of  the  new  era 

HON.  PETE  SAWYER.  . .  .Sold  seven  times,  got  the  money  once 

GEORGE  HARRIS,  JR An  educated  Negro,  son  of  Eliza 

DICK.  .  An  unsolved  riddle 


LEGREE'S   REGIME 


THE  LEOPARD'S  SPOTS 

ffiegime 


CHAPTER  I 
A  HERO  RETURNS 

O>[  tlie  field  of  Appomattox  General  Lee  was 
waiting  the  return  of  a  courier.  His  handsome 
face  was  clouded  by  the  deepening  shadows  of 
defeat.  Rumours  of  surrender  had  spread  like  wildfire, 
and  the  ranks  of  his  once  invincible  army  were  breaking 
into  chaos. 

Suddenly  the  measured  tread  of  a  brigade  was  heard 
marching  into  action,  every  movement  quick  with  the 
perfect  discipline,  the  fire,  and  the  passion  of  the  first 
days  of  the  triumphant  Confederacy. 

"What  brigade  is  that?"  he  sharply  asked. 

"Cox's  North  Carolina,"  an  aid  replied. 

As  the  troops  swept  steadily  past  the  General,  his  eyes 
filled  with  tears,  he  lifted  his  hat,  and  exclaimed, 

"God  bless  old  North  Carolina!" 

The  display  of  matchless  discipline  perhaps  recalled  to 
the  great  commander  that  awful  day  of  Gettysburg  when 
the  Twenty-sixth  North  Carolina  infantry  had  charged 
with  820  men  rank  and  file  and  left  704  dead  and 
wounded  on  the  ground  that  night.  Company  F  from 
Campbell  County  charged  with  91  men  and  lost  every 
man  killed  and  wounded.  Fourteen  times  their  colours 
were  shot  down,  and  fourteen  times  raised  again.  The 


4  The  Leopard's  Spots 

last  time  they  fell  from  the  hands  of  gallant  Colonel 
Harry  Burgwyn,  twenty-one  years  old,  commander  of 
the  regiment,  who  seized  them  and  was  holding  them 
aloft  when  instantly  killed. 

The  last  act  of  the  tragedy  had  closed.  Johnston 
surrendered  to  Sherman  at  Greensboro  on  April  26, 
1865,  and  the  Civil  War  ended — the  bloodiest,  most 
destructive  war  the  world  ever  saw.  The  earth  had 
been  baptised  in  the  blood  of  five  hundred  thousand 
heroic  soldiers,  and  a  new  map  of  the  world  had  been 
made. 

The  ragged  troops  were  straggling  home  from  Greens 
boro  and  Appomattox  along  the  country  roads.  There 
were  no  mails,  telegraph  lines  or  railroads.  The  men 
were  telling  the  story  of  the  surrender.  White-faced 
women  dressed  in  coarse  homespun  met  them  at  their 
doors  and  with  quivering  lips  heard  the  news. 

Surrender ! 

A  new  word  in  the  vocabulary  of  the  South — a  word  so 
terrible  in  its  meaning  that  the  date  of  its  birth  was  to 
be  the  landmark  of  time.  Henceforth  all  events  would 
be  reckoned  from  this;  "before  the  Surrender,"  or 
"  after  the  Surrender." 

Desolation  everywhere  marked  the  end  of  an  era. 
Not  a  cow,  a  sheep,  a  horse,  a  fowl  or  a  sign  of  animal 
life  save  here  and  there  a  stray  dog,  to  be  seen.  Grim 
chimneys  marked  the  site  of  once  fair  homes.  Hedge 
rows  of  tangled  blackberry  brier  and  bushes  showed 
where  a  fence  had  stood  before  war  breathed  upon  the 
land  with  its  breath  of  fire  and  harrowed  it  with  teeth 
of  steel. 

These  tramping  soldiers  looked  worn  and  dispirited. 
Their  shoulders  stooped;  they  were  dirty  and  hungry. 
They  looked  worse  than  they  felt,  and  they  felt  that  the 
end  of  the  world  had  come. 


A  Hero  Returns  5 

They  had  answered  those  awful  commands  to  charge 
without  a  murmur;  and  then,  rolled  back  upon  a  sea  of 
blood,  they  charged  again  over  the  dead  bodies  of  their 
comrades.  When  repulsed  the  second  time  and  the 
mad  cry  for  a  third  charge  from  some  desperate  com 
mander  had  rung  over  the  field,  still  without  a  word  they 
pulled  their  old  ragged  hats  down  close  over  their  eyes  as 
though  to  shut  out  the  hail  of  bullets,  and,  through  level 
sheets  of  blinding  flame,  walked  straight  into  the  jaws 
of  hell.  This  had  been  easy.  Now  their  feet  seemed  to 
falter  as  though  they  were  not  sure  of  the  road. 

In  every  one  of  these  soldiers'  hearts,  and  over  all  the 
earth,  hung  the  shadow  of  the  freed  Negro,  transformed 
by  the  exigency  of  war  from  a  Chattel,  to  be  bought 
and  sold,  into  a  possible  Beast  to  be  feared  and  guarded. 
Around  this  dusky  figure  every  white  man's  soul  was 
keeping  its  grim  vigil. 

North  Carolina,  the  typical  American  Democracy, 
had  loved  peace  and  sought  in  vain  to  stand  between 
the  mad  passions  of  the  Cavalier  of  the  South  and  the 
Puritan  fanatic  of  the  North.  She  entered  the  war  at 
last  with  a  sorrowful  heart,  but  a  soul  clear  in  the  sense 
of  tragic  duty.  She  sent  more  boys  to  the  front  than 
any  other  state  of  the  Confederacy — and  left  more  dead 
on  the  field.  She  made  the  last  charge  and  fired  the 
last  volley  for  Lee's  army  at  Appomattox. 

These  were  the  ragged  country  boys  who  were  slowly 
tramping  homeward.  The  group  whose  fortunes  we 
are  to  follow  were  marching  toward  the  little  village 
of  Hambright  that  nestled  in  the  foothills  of  the  Blue 
Ridge  under  the  shadows  of  King's  Mountain.  They 
were  the  sons  of  the  men  who  had  first  declared  their 
independence  of  Great  Britain  in  America  and  had  made 
their  country  a  hornet's  nest  for  Lord  Cornwallis  in  the 
darkest  days  of  the  cause  of  Liberty.  What,  tongue 


6  The  Leopard's  Spots 

can  tell  the  tragic  story  of  their  humble  home  coming  ? 
In  rich  Northern  cities  could  be  heard  the  boom  of 
guns,  the  scream  of  steam  whistles,  the  shouts  of  surging 
hosts  greeting  returning  regiments  crowned  with  victory. 
From  every  flagstaff  fluttered  proudly  the  flag  that  our 
fathers  had  lifted  in  the  sky — the  flag  that  had  never 
met  defeat. 

It  is  little  wonder  that  in  this  hour  of  triumph  the 
world  should  forget  the  defeated  soldiers  who,  without 
a  dollar  in  their  pockets,  were  tramping  to  their  ruined 
homes. 

Yet  Nature  did  not  seem  to  know  of  sorrow  or  death. 
Birds  were  singing  their  love  songs  from  the  hedgerows, 
the  fields  were  clothed  in  gorgeous  robes  of  wild  flowers, 
beneath  which  forget-me-nots  spread  their  contrasting 
hues  of  blue,  while  life  was  busy  in  bud  and  starting  leaf, 
reclothing  the  blood-stained  earth  in  radiant  beauty. 

As  the  sun  was  setting  behind  the  peaks  of  the  Blue 
Ridge,  a  giant  negro  entered  the  village  of  Hambright. 
He  walked  rapidly  down,  one  of  the  principal  streets, 
passed  the  court-house  square  unobserved  in  the  gather 
ing  twilight,  and  three  blocks  farther  along  paused  before 
a  law-  office  that  stood  in  the  corner  of  a  beautiful  lawn 
filled  with  shrubbery  and  flowers. 

"Dar's  de  ole  home,  praise  de  Lawd!  En  now  I'se 
erfeard  ter  see  my  Missy,  en  tell  her  Marse  Charles's 
daid.  Hit'll  kill  her.  Lawd  hab  mussy  on  my  po'  black 
soul!  How  kin  I!" 

He  walked  softly  up  the  alley  that  led  toward  the 
kitchen  past  the  "big"  house,  which  after  all  was  a 
modest  cottage  boarded  up  and  down  with  weatherstrips 
nestling  amid  a  labyrinth  of  climbing  roses,  honey 
suckles,  fruit-bearing  shrubbery  and  balsam  trees. 
The  negro  had  no  difficulty  in  concealing  his  movements 
as  he  passed. 


A  Hero  Returns  7 

"Lordy,  dar's  Missy  watchin*  at  de  winder!  How 
pale  she  look !  En  she  wuz  de  purties*  bride  in  de  two 
counties.  God-der-mighty,  I  nms'  git  somebody  ter 
he'p  me.  I  nebber  tell  her.  She  drap  daid  right  'fore 
my  eyes,  en  hant  me  twell  I  die.  I  run  fetch  de  Preacher, 
Marse  John  Durham;  he  kin  tell  her." 

A  few  moments  later  he  was  knocking  at  the  door  of 
the  parsonage  of  the  Baptist  church. 

"Nelse!    At  last!     I  knew  you'd  comei" 

"Yassir,  Marse  John,  I'se  home.     Hit's  me." 

"And  your  Master  is  dead.  I  was  sure  of  it,  but  I 
never  dared  tell  your  Mistress.  You  came  for  me  to  help 
you  tell  her.  People  said  you  had  gone  over  into  the 
promised  land  of  freedom  and  forgotten  your  people; 
but,  Nelse,  I  never  believed  it  of  you,  and  I'm  doubly 
glad  to  shake  your  hand  to-night  because  you've  brought 
a  brave  message  from  heroic  lips  and  because  you  have 
brought  a  braver  message  in  your  honest  black  face  of 
faith  and  duty  and  life  and  love." 

"Thankee,  Marse  John;  I  wuz  erbleeged  ter  come 
home." 

The  Preacher  stepped  into  the  hall  and  called  the 
servant  from  the  kitchen, 

"Aunt  Mary,  when  your  Mistress  returns  tell  her  I've 
received  an  urgent  call  and  will  not  be  at  home  for 
supper." 

"I'll  be  ready  in  a  minute,  Nelse,"  he  said,  as  he 
disappeared  into  the  study.  When  he  reached  his  desk, 
he  paused  and  looked  about  the  room  in  a  helpless  way 
as  though  trying  to  find  some  half-forgotten  volume  in 
the  rows  of  books  that  lined  the  walls  and  lay  in  piles 
on  his  desk  and  tables.  He  knelt  beside  the  desk  and 
prayed.  When  he  rose  there  was  a  soft  light  in  his 
eyes  that  were  half  filled  with  tears. 

Standing  in  the  dim  light  of  his  study  he  was  a 


8  The  Leopard's  Spots 

striking  man.  He  had  a  powerful  figure  of  medium 
height,  deep,  piercing  eyes,  and  a  high  intellectual 
forehead.  His  hair  was  black  and  thick.  He  was  a 
man  of  culture,  had  graduated  at  the  head  of  his  class 
at  Wake  Forest  College  before  the  war,  and  was  a 
profound  student  of  men  and  books.  He  was  now 
thirty-five  years  old  and  the  acknowledged  leader  of  the 
Baptist  denomination  in  the  state.  He  was  eloquent, 
witty,  and  proverbially  good-natured.  His  voice  in  the 
pulpit  was  soft  and  clear,  and  full  of  a  magnetic  quality 
that  gave  him  hypnotic  power  over  an  audience.  He 
had  the  prophetic  temperament  and  was  more  of  poet 
than  theologian. 

The  people  of  this  village  were  proud  of  the  man  as 
a  citizen  and  loved  him  passionately  as  their  preacher. 
Great  churches  had  called  him,  but  he  had  never 
accepted.  There  was  in  his  make-up  an  element  of  the 
missionary  that  gave  his  personality  a  peculiar  force. 

He  had  been  the  college  mate  of  Colonel  Charles 
Gaston,  whose  faithful  slave  had  come  to  him  for  help, 
and  they  had  always  been  bosom  friends.  He  had 
performed  the  marriage  ceremony  for  the  Colonel  ten 
years  before,  when  he  had  led  to  the  altar  the  beautiful 
daughter  of  the  richest  planter  in  the  adjoining  county. 
Durham's  own  heart  was  profoundly  moved  by  his 
friend's  happiness,  and  he  threw  into  the  brief  pre 
liminary  address  so  much  of  tenderness  and  earnest 
passion  that  the  trembling  bride  and  groom  forgot  their 
fright  and  were  melted  to  tears.  Thus  began  an 
association  of  their  family  life  that  was  closer  than 
their  college  days. 

He  closed  his  lips  firmly  for  an  instant,  softly  shut  the 
door  and  was  soon  on  the  way  with  Nelse.  On  reaching 
the  house,  Nelse  went  directly  to  the  kitchen,  while  the 
Preacher,  walking  along  the  circular  drive,  approached 


A  Hero  Returns  9 

the  front.     His  foot  had  scarcely  touched  the  step  when 
Mrs.  Gaston  opened  the  door. 

"Oh,  Doctor  Durham,  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come !" 
she  exclaimed.  "I've  been  depressed  to-day,  watching 
the  soldiers  go  by.  All  day  long  the  poor  footsore 
fellows  have  been  passing.  I  stopped  some  of  them  to 
ask  about  Colonel  Gaston  and  I  thought  one  of  them 
knew  something  and  would  not  tell  me.  I  brought  him ' 
in  and  gave  him  dinner,  and  tried  to  coax  him,  but  he 
only  looked  wistfully  at  me,  stammered,  and  said  he 
didn't  know.  But  somehow  I  feel  that  he  did.  Come 
in,  Doctor,  and  say  something  to  cheer  me.  If  I  only 
had  your  faith  in  God." 

"I  have  need  of  it  all  to-night,  Madam  1 "  he  answered 
with  a  bowed  head. 

"Then  you  have  heard  bad  news?" 

"I  have  heard  news — wonderful  news  of  faith  and 
love,  of  heroism  and  knightly  valour,  that  will  be  a 
priceless  heritage  to  you  and  yours.  Nelse  has 
returned " 

"God  have  mercy  on  me!"  she  gasped,  covering  her 
face  and  raising  h,er  arm  as  though  cowering  from  a 
mortal  blow. 

"Here  is  Nelse,  Madam.  Hear  his  story.  He  has 
only  told  me  a  word  or  two."  Nelse  had  slipped  quietly 
in  the  back  door. 

"  Yassum,  Missy,  I'se  home  at  las'." 

She  looked  at  him  strangely  for  a  moment.  "Nelse, 
I've  dreamed  and  dreamed  of  your  coming,  but  always 
with  him.  And  now  you  come  alone  to  tell  me  he  is 
dead.  Lord  have  pity — there  is  nothing  left ! "  There 
was  a  far-away  sound  in  her  voice  as  though  half 
dreaming. 

"Yas,  Missy,  dey  is;  I  jes  seed  him — my  young 
Marster — dem  bright  eyes,  de  ve'y  nose,  de  chin,  de 


io  The  Leopard's  Spots 

mouf !  He  walks  des  like  Marse  Charles,  he  talks  like 
him,  he  de  ve'y  spit  er  him,  en  how  he  hez  growed )  He'll 
be  er  man'  fo'  you  knows  it.  En  I'se  got  er  letter  firm 
his  Pa  fur  him,  an'  er  letter  fur  you,  Missy." 

At  this  moment  Charlie  entered  the  room,  slipped  past 
Nelse  and  climbed  into  his  mother's  arms,  He  was  a 
sturdy  little  fellow  of  eight  years,  with  big  brown  eyes 
and  sensitive  mouth. 

"Yassir — Ole  Grant  wuz  er  pushin'  us  dar  afo' 
Richmon1.  'Pear  ter  me  lak  Marse  Robert  been  er 
fightin'  him  ev'y  day  for  six  monts.  But  he  des  keep 
on  pushin'  en  pushin'  us.  Marse  Charles  say  ter  me  one 
night  after  I  been  playin*  de  banjer  fur  de  boys,  'Come 
ter  my  tent,  Nelse,  'fo'turnin'  in — I  wants. ter  see  you.' 
He  talk  so  solemn  like,  I  cut  de  banjer  short  en  go  right 
erlong  wid  him.  He  been  er  writin'  en  done  had  two 
letters  writ.  He  say, '  Nelse,  we  gwine  ter  git  outen  dese 
trenches  ter-morrer.  It  twell  be  my  las'  charge.  I 
feel  it-  Ef  I  falls,  you  take  my  swode  en  watch  en  dese 
letters  back  home  to  your  Mist 'ess  and  young  Marster, 
en  you  promise  me,  boy,  to  stan'  by  'em  in  life  ez  I  stan' 
by  yoUc*  He  know  I  lub  him  bettcrn  any  body  in  dis 
worl',  en  dat  I'd  rudder  be  his  slave  dan  be  free  if  he's 
daid.  En  I  say,  'Dat  I  will,  Marse  Charles.' 

"De  nex'  day  we  up  en  charge  ole  Grant,  Tears  ter 
me  I  nebber  see  so  many  dead  Yankees  on  dis  yearth  ez 
we  see  layin'  on  de  groun'  whar  we  brake  froo  dem 
lines !  But  dey  des  kep  fetchin'  up  anudder  army  back 
er  de  one  we  breaks,  twell  bimeby,  dey  swing  er  whole 
millyon  er  Yankees  right  plum  behin'  us,  en  five  millyon 
er  fresh  uns  come  er  swoopin'  down  in  front.  Den  yer 
otter  see  my  Marster!  He  des  kinder  riz  in  de  air — 
'pear  ter  me  like  he  wuz  er  foot  taller— en  say  to  his  men 
— «« 'Bout  face,  en  charge  de  line  in  de  rear ! '  Wall,  sar, 
we  cut  er  hole  clean  froo  dem  Yankees  en  er  minute,  en 


A  Hero  Returns  n 

den  'bout  face  ergin  en  begin  ter  walk  backerds  er 
fightin'  like  wilecats  ev'y  inch.  We  git  mos'  back  ter  de 
trenches,  when  Marse  Charles  drap  des  lak  er  flash !  I 
run r:ed  up  to  him,  en  der  wuz  er  big  hole  in  his  breas' 
whar  er  bullet  gone  clean  froo  his  heart.  He  nebber 
groan.  I  tuk  his  head  up  in  my  arms  en  cry  en  take  on 
en  call  him !  I  pull  back  his  close  en  listen  at  his  heart. 
Hit  wuz  still.  I  takes  de  swode  an  de  watch  en  de 
letters  outen  de  pockets  en  start  on — when,  bress  God  ! 
yer  cum  dat  whole  Yankee  army  ten  hundred  millyons, 
en  dey  tromple  all  over  us ! 

"Den  I  hear  er  Yankee  say  ter  me,  'Now,  my  man, 
you'se  free.'  '  Yassir,'  sezzi,  'dats  so,'  en  den  I  see  a  hole 
ter  run  whar  dey  warn't  no  Yankees,  en  I  run  spang 
into  er  millyon  mo'.  De  Yankees  wuz  ev'ywhar.  'Pear 
ter  me  lak  dey  riz  outer  de  groun'.  AH  dat  day  I  try 
ter  get  away  fum  'em.  En  long  'bout  night  dey  'rested 
me  en  fetch  me  up  'fo'  er  Genr'l,  en  he  say, 

"  '  What  you  tryin'  ter  get  froo  our  lines  fur,  nigger? 
Doan  yer  know  yer  free  now,  en  if  you  go  back  you'd  be 
a  slave  ergin?' 

"  'Dats  so,  sah,'  sezzi;  'but  I'se  'bleeged  ter  go  home.' 

'"What  for?'  sezze. 

'"Promise  Marse  Charles  ter  take  dese  letters  en 
swode  en  watch  back  home  to  my  Missus  en  young 
Marster,  en  dey  waitin'  fur  me — I'se  'bleeged  ter  go.' 

'"Den  he  tuk  de  letters  en  read  er  minute,  en  his  eyes 
gin  ter  water  en  he  choke  up  en  say,  '  Go-long ! ' 

"Den  I  skeedaddled  ergin.  Dey  kep  on  ketchin'  me 
twell  bimeby  er  nasty,  stinkin',  low-life,  slue-footed 
Yankee  kotched  me  en  say  dat  I  wuz  er  dange'us  nigger, 
en  sont  me  wid  er  lot  er  our  prisoners  way  up  ter  ole 
Jonson's  Islan',  whar  I  nios'  froze  ter  deaf.  I  stay  dar 
twell  one  day  er  fine  lady  what  say  she  from  Boston 
cum  erlong  en  I  up  en  tells  her  all  erbout  Marse  Charles 


12  The  Leopard's  Spots 

and  my  Missus,  en  how  dey  all  waitin'  fur  me,  en  how 
bad  I  want  ter  go  home,  en  de  nex'  news  I  knowed  I 
wuz  on  er  train  er  whizzin'  down  home  wid  my  way  all 
paid.  I  get  wid  our  men  at  Greensboro  en  come  light 
on  fas'  ez  my  legs'd  carry  me." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  and  then  slowly  Mrs. 
Gaston  said,  "May  God  reward  you,  Nelse  !" 

"Yassum,  I'se  free,  Missy,  but  I  gwine  ter  wuk  for 
you  en  my  young  Marster." 

Mrs.  Gaston  had  lived  daily  in  a  sort  of  trance  through 
those  four  years  of  war,  dreaming  and  planning  for  the 
great  day  when  her  lover  would  return  a  handsome, 
bronzed  and  famous  man.  She  had  never  conceived  of 
the  possibility  of  a  world  without  his  will  and  love  to 
lean  upon.  The  Preacher  was  both  puzzled  and  alarmed 
by  the  strangely  calm  manner  she  now  assumed.  Before 
leaving  the  home  he  cautioned  Aunt  Eve  to  watch  her 
Mistress  closely  and  send  for  him  if  anything  happened. 

When  the  boy  was  asleep  in  the  nursery  adjoining  her 
room,  she  quietly  closed  the  door,  took  the  sword  of 
her  dead  lover-husband  in  her  lap,  and  looked  long 
and  tenderly  at  it.  On  the  hilt  she  pressed  her  lips  in 
a  lingering  kiss. 

' '  Here  his  dear  hand  must  have  rested  last ! ' '  she 
murmured.  She  sat  motionless  for  an  hour  with  eyes 
fixed  without  seeing.  At  last  she  rose  and  hung  the 
sword  beside  his  picture  near  her  bed  and  drew  from 
her  bosom  the  crumpled,  worn  letters  Nelse  had  brought. 
The  first  was  addressed  to  her. 

"  IN  THE  TRENCHES  NEAR  RICHMOND,  May  4,  1864. 

"Sweet  Wifie:  I  have  a  presentiment  to-night  that 
I  shall  not  live  to  see  you  again.  I  feel  the  shadows  of 
defeat  and  ruin  closing  upon  us.  I  am  surer  day  by 
day  that  our  cause  is  lost,  and  surrender  is  a  word  I 


A  Hero  Returns  13 

have  never  learned  to  speak.  If  I  could  only  see  you 
for  one  hour,  that  I  might  tell  you  all  I  have  thought 
in  the  lone  watches  of  the  night  in  camp,  or  marching 
over  desolate  fields.  Many  tender  things  I  have  never 
said  to  you  I  have  learned  in  these  days.  I  write  this 
last  message  to  tell  you  how,  more  and  more  beyond 
the  power  of  words  to  express,  your  love  has  grown  upon 
me,  until  your  spirit  seems  the  breath  I  breathe.  My 
heart  is  so  full  of  love  for  you  and  my  boy  that  I  can't 
go  into  battle  now  without  thinking  how  many  hearts 
will  ache  and  break  in  far-away  homes  because  of  the 
work  I  am  about  to  do.  I  am  sick  of  it  all.  I  long  to 
be  at  home  again  and  walk  with  my  sweet  young  bride 
among  the  flowers  she  loves  so  well,  and  hear  the  old 
mocking-bird  that  builds  each  spring  in  those  rose 
bushes  at  our  window. 

."If  I  am  killed,  you  must  live  for  our  boy  and  rear 
him  to  a  glorious  manhood  in  the  new  nation  that  will 
be  born  in  this  agony.  I  love  you — I  love  you  unto  the 
uttermost,  and  beyond  death  I  will  live,  if  only  to  lore 
you  forever.  Always  in  life  or  death  your  own, 

"CHARLES." 

For  two  hours  she  held  this  letter  open  in  her  hands 
and  seemed  unable  to  move  it.  And  then  mechanically 
she  opened  the  one  addressed  to  "Charles  Gaston,  Jr." 

"My  Darling  Boy:  I  send  by  you  Nelse  my  watch 
and  sword.  It  will  be  all  I  can  bequeath  to  you  from 
the  wreck  that  will  follow  the  war.  This  sword  was  your 
great-grandfather's.  He  held  it  as  he  charged  up  the 
heights  of  King's  Mountain  against  Ferguson  and  helped 
to  carve  this  nation  out  of  a  wilderness.  It  was  a  sor 
rowful  day  for  me  when  I  felt  it  my  duty  to  draw  that 
sword  against  the  old  flag  in  defense  of  my  home  and 


14  The  Leopard's  Spots 

my  people.  You  will  live  to  see  a  reunited  country. 
Hang  this  sword  back  beside  the  old  flag  of  our  fathers 
when  the  end  has  come,  and  always  remember  that  it 
was  never  drawn  from  its  scabbard  by  your  father,  or 
your  grandfather,  who  fought  with  Jackson  at  New 
Orleans,  or  your  great-grandfather  in  the  Revolution, 
save  in  the  cause  of  justice  and  right.  I  am  not  fighting  to 
hold  slaves  in  bondage.  I  am  fighting  for  the  inalienable 
rights  of  my  people  under  the  Constitution  our  fathers 
created.  It  may  be  we  have  outgrown  this  Constitution . 
But  I  calmly  leave  to  God  and  history  the  question  as 
to  who  is  right  in  its  interpretation.  Whatever  you 
do  in  life,  first,  last  and  always  do  what  you  believe 
to  be  right.  Everything  else  is  of  little  importance. 
With  a  heart  full  of  love,  Your  father, 

"CHARLES  GASTON." 

This  letter  she  must  have  held  open  for  hours,  for  it 
was  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  a  wild  peal  of 
laughter  rang  from  her  feverish  lips  and  brought  Aunt 
Eve  and  Nelse  hurrying  into  the  room. 

It  took  but  a  moment  for  them  to  discover  that  theii 
Mistress  was  suffering  from  a  violent  delirium.  They 
soothed  her  as  best  they  could.  The  noise  and  confusion 
had  awakened  the  boy.  Running  to  the  door  leading 
into  his  mother's  room,  he  found  it  bolted,  and  with  his 
little  heart  fluttering  in  terror  he  pressed  his  ear  close 
to  the  keyhole  and  heard  her  wild  ravings.  How 
strange  her  voice  seemed !  Her  voice  had  always  been 
so  soft  and  low  and  full  of  soothing  music.  Now  it  was 
sharp  and  hoarse  and  seemed  to  rasp  his  flesh  with 
needles.  What  could  it  all  mean?  Perhaps  the  end 
of  the  world,  about  which  he  had  heard  the  Preacher 
talk  on  Sundays.  At  last,  unable  to  bear  the  terrible 
suspense  longer,  he  cried  through  the  keyhole: 


A  Hero  Returns  15 

"Aunt  Eve,  what's  the  matter?  Open  the  door, 
quick." 

"No,  honey,  you  mustn't  come  in.  Yo'  Ma's  awful 
sick.  You  run  out  ter  de  barn,  ketch  de  mare,  en  fly  for 
de  doctor  while  me  en  Nelse  stay  wid  her.  Run,  honey, 
day's  nuttin'  ter  hurt  yer." 

His  little  bare  feet  were  soon  pattering  over  the 
long  stretch  of  the  back  porch  toward  the  barn.  The 
night  was  clear  and  the  sky  studded  with  stars.  There 
was  no  moon.  He  was  a  brave  little  fellow,  but  a  fear 
greater  than  all  the  terrors  of  ghosts  and  the  white 
sheeted  dead  with  which  Negro  superstition  had  filled 
his  imagination,  now  nerved  his  child's  soul.  His 
mother  was  about  to  die.  His  very  heart  ceased  to 
beat  at  the  thought.  He  must  bring  the  doctor  and 
bring  him  quickly. 

He  flew  to  the  stable,  not  looking  to  the  right  or  the 
left.  The  mare  whinnied  as  he  opened  the  door  to  get 
the  bridle. 

"It's  me,  Bessie.  Mamma's  sick.  We  must  go  for 
the  doctor,  quick!" 

The  mare  thrust  her  head  obediently  down  to  the 
child's  short  arm  for  the  bridle.  She  seemed  to  know 
by  some  instinct  his  quivering  voice  had  roused  that 
the  home  was  in  distress  and  her  hour  had  come  to  bear 
a  part. 

In  a  moment  he  led  her  out  through  the  gate,  climbed 
on  the  fence,  and  sprang  on  her  back. 

"Now,  Bess,  fly  for  me!"  he  half  whispered,  half 
cried  through  the  tears  he  could  no  longer  keep  back. 
The  mare  bounded  forward  in  a  swift  gallop  as  she  felt 
his  trembling  bare  legs  clasp  her  sides,  and  the  clatter 
of  her  hoofs  echoed  in  the  boy's  ears  through  the  silent 
streets  like  the  thunder  of  charging  cavalry.  How  still 
the  night !  He  saw  shadows  under  the  trees,  shut  his 


1 6  The  Leopard's  Spots 

eyes  and  leaning  low  on  the  mare's  neck  patted  her 
shoulders  with  his  hands  and  cried, 

"Faster,  Bessie,  faster !"  And  then  he  tried  to  pray. 
"Lord,  don't  let  her  die !  Please,  dear  God,  and  I  will 
always  be  good.  I  am  sorry  I  robbed  the  birds'  nests 
last  summer — I'll  never  do  it  again.  Please,  Lord,  I'm 
such  a  wee  boy  and  I'm  so  lonely.  I  can't  lose  my 
Mamma!" — and  the  voice  choked  and  became  a  great 
sob.  He  looked  across  the  square  as  he  passed  the 
court-house  in  a  gallop  and  saw  a  light  in  the  window 
of  the  parsonage  and  felt  its  rays  warm  his  soul  like  an 
answer  to  his  prayer. 

He  reached  the  Doctor's  house  on  the  farther  side 
of  the  town,  sprang  from  the  mare's  back,  bounded  up 
the  steps  and  knocked  at  the  door.  No  one  answered. 
He  knocked  again.  How  loud  it  rang  through  the  hall ! 
Maybe  the  Doctor  was  gone.  He  had  not  thought  of 
such  a  possibility  before.  He  choked  at  the  thought. 
Springing  quickly  from  the  steps  to  the  ground  he  felt 
for  a  stone,  bounded  back  and  began  to  pound  on  the 
door  with  all  his  might. 

The  window  was  raised,  and  the  old  Doctor  thrust  his 
head  out,  calling, 

"What  on  earth's  the  matter ?     Who  is  that ? " 

"It's  me,  Charlie  Gaston — my  Mamma's  sick — she's 
awful  sick,  I'm  afraid  she's  dying — you  must  come 
quick !  " 

"All  right,  sonny;  I'll  be  ready  in  a  minute." 

The  boy  waited  and  waited.  It  seemed  to  him  hours, 
days,  weeks,  years  !  To  every  impatient  call  the  Doctor 
would  answer: 

"In  a  minute,  sonny,  in  a  minute." 

At  last  he  emerged  with  his  lantern,  to  catch  his 
ho»se.  The  Doctor  seemed  so  slow.  He  fumbled  over 
the  harness. 


A  Hero  Returns  17 

"Oh,  Doctor,  you're  so  slow !  I  tell  you  my  Mamma's 
sick !" 

"Well,  well,  my  boy,  we'll  soon  be  there,"  the  old 
man  kindly  replied. 

When  the  boy  saw  the  Doctor's  horse  jogging  quickly 
toward  his  home  he  turned  the  mare's  head  aside  as  he 
reached  the  court-house  square,  roused  the  Preacher, 
and  between  his  sobs  told  the  story  of  his  mother's 
illness.  Mrs.  Durham  had  lost  her  only  boy  two  years 
before.  Soon  Charlie  was  sobbing  in  her  arms. 

"You  poor  little  darling,  out  by  yourself  so  late  at 
night;  were  you  not  scared?"  she  asked  as  she  kissed 
the  tears  from  his  eyes. 

"  Yessum,  I  was  scared,  but  I  had  to  go  for  the  doctor. 
I  want  you  and  Doctor  Durham  to  come  as  quick  as  you 
can.  I'm  afraid  to  go  home.  I'm  afraid  she's  dead,  or 
I'll  hear  her  laugh  that  awful  way  I  heard  to-night." 

"Of  course  we  will  come,  dear,  right  away.  We  will 
be  there  almost  as  soon  as  you  can  get  to  the  house." 

He  rode  slowly  along  the  silent  street,  looking  back 
now  and  then  for  the  Preacher  and  his  wife.  As  he 
was  passing  a  small  deserted  house  he  saw,  to  his  horror, 
a  ragged  man  peering  into  the  open  window.  Before 
he  had  time  to  run,  the  man  stepped  quickly  up  to  the 
mare  and  said, 

"Who  lived  here  last,  little  man?" 

"Old  Miss  Spurlin,"  answered  the  boy. 

"Where  is  she  now?" 

"She's  dead." 

The  man  sighed,  and  the  boy  saw  by  his  gray  uniform 
that  he  was  a  soldier  just  back  from  the  war,  and  he 
quickly  added: 

"Folks  said  they  had  a  hard  time,  but  Preacher 
Durham  helped  them  lots  when  they  had  nothing  to 
eat." 


1 8  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"So  my  poor  old  mother's  dead.  I  was  afraid  of  it." 
He  seemed  to  be  talking  to  himself.  "And  do  you 
know  where  her  gal  is  that  lived  with  her  ? " 

''She's  in  a  little  house  down  in  the  woods  below 
town.  They  say  she's  a  bad  woman,  and  my  Mamma 
would  never  let  me  go  near  her." 

The  man  flinched  as  though  struck  with  a  knife, 
steadied  himself  for  a  moment  with  his  hands  on  the 
mare's  neck  and  said: 

"You're  a  brave  little  one  to  be  out  alone  this  time 
o' night — what's  your  name?" 

"Charles  Gaston." 

"Then  you're  my  Colonel's  boy;  many  a  time  I 
followed  him  where  men  were  fallin'  like  leaves — I  wish 
to  God  I  was  with  him  now  in  the  ground !  Don't  tell 
anybody  you  saw  me — them  that  knowed  me  will 
think  I'm  dead,  and  it's  better  so." 

"Good-by,  sir,"  said  the  child.  "I'm  sorry  for  you  if 
you've  got  no  home.  I'm  after  the  doctor  for  my 
Mamma — she's  very  sick.  I'm  afraid  she's  going  to  die, 
and  if  you  ever  pray  I  wish  you'd  pray  for  her." 

The  soldier  came  closer.  "I  wish  I  knew  how  to 
pray,  my  boy.  But  it  seemed  to  me  I  forgot  everything 
that  was  good  in  the  war,  and  there's  nothin'  left  but 
death  and  hell.  But  I'll  not  forget  you;  good-by!" 

When  Charlie  was  in  bed,  he  lay  an  hour  with  wide- 
staring  eyes,  holding  his  breath  now  and  then  to  catch 
the  faintest  sound  from  his  mother's  room.  All  was 
quiet  at  last  and  he  fell  asleep.  But  he  was  no  longer 
a  child.  The  shadow  of  a  great  sorrow  had  enveloped 
his  soul  and  clothed  him  with  the  dignity  and  fellowship 
of  the  mystery  of  pain. 


CHAPTER   II 
A  LIGHT  SHINING  IN  DARKNESS 

IN  the  rear  of  Mrs.  Gaston's  place  there  stood  in  the 
midst  of  an  orchard  a  log  house  of  two  rooms, 
with  a  hallway  between  them.  There  was  a  mud- 
thatched  wooden  chimney  at  each  end,  and  from  the 
back  of  the  hallway  a  kitchen  extension  of  the  same 
material  with  another  mud  chimney.  The  house  stood 
in  the  middle  of  a  ten-acre  lot,  and  a  woman  was  busy 
in  the  garden  with  a  little  girl,  planting  seed. 

"Hurry  up,  Annie,  le's  finish  this  in  time  to  fix  up  a 
fine  dinner  er  greens,  an'  turnips,  an'  'taters  an'  a 
chicken.  Yer  Pappy  '11  get  home  to-day,  sure.  Colonel 
Gaston's  Nelse  come  last  night.  Yer  Pappy  was  in  the 
Colonel's  regiment,  an'  Nelse  said  he  passed  him  on  the 
road  comin'  with  two  one-legged  soldiers.  He  ain't 
got  but  one  leg,  he  says.  But,  Lord,  if  there's  a  piece 
of  him  left  we'll  praise  God  an'  be  thankful  for  what 
we've  got." 

"Maw,  how  did  he  look?  I  mos'  forgot  — 's  been  so 
long  sence  I  seed  him?"  asked  the  child. 

"Look!  Honey,  he  was  the  handsomest  man  in 
Campbell  County !  He  had  a  tall,  fine  figure,  brown, 
curly  beard,  and  the  sweetest  mouth  that  was  always 
smilin'  at  me,  an'  his  eyes  twinklin'  over  somethin' 
funny  he'd  seed  or  thought  about.  When  he  was 
young  ev'ry  gal  around  here  was  crazy  about  him.  I 
got  him  all  right,  an'  he  got  me,  too.  Oh,  me !  I  can't 
help  but  cry,  to  think  he's  been  gone  so  long.  But  he's 
comin'  to-day !  I  jes'  feel  it  in  my  bones." 

19 


20  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"  Look  a-yonder,  Maw,  what  a  skeercrow  ridin*  er  ole 
boss,"  cried  the  girl,  looking  suddenly  toward  the  road. 

"Glory  to  God!  It's  Tom!"  she  shouted,  snatching 
her  old  faded  sun-bonnet  off  her  head  and  fairly  flying 
across  the  field  to  the  gate,  her  cheeks  aflame,  her  blond 
hair  tumbling  over  her  shoulders,  her  eyes  wet  with  tears. 

Tom  was  entering  the  gate  of  his  modest  home  in  as 
fine  style  as  possible,  seated  proudly  on  a  stack  of  bones 
that  had  once  been  a  horse,  an  old  piece  of  wool  on  his 
head  that  once  had  been  a  hat  and  a  wooden  peg  fitted 
into  a  stump  where  once  was  a  leg.  His  face  v^as  pale 
and  stained  with  the  red  dust  of  the  hill  roads,  and  his 
beard,  now  iron  gray,  and  his  ragged,  buttonless  uniform 
were  covered  with  dirt.  He  was  truly  a  sight  to  scare 
crows,  if  not  of  interest  to  buzzards.  But  to  the  woman 
whose  swift  feet  were  hurrying  to  his  side,  and  whose 
lips  were  muttering  half-articulate  cries  of  love-  he  was 
the  knightliest  figure  that  ever  rode  in  the  lists  before 
the  assembled  beauty  of  the  world. 

"Oh,  Tom,  Tom,  Tom,  my  ole  man!  You've  come 
at  last !"  she  sobbed,  as  she  threw  her  arms  around  his 
neck,  drew  him  from  the  horse  and  fairly  smothered 
him  with  kisses. 

"Look  out,  ole  woman,  you'll  break  my  new  leg!" 
cried  Tom,  when  he  could  get  breath. 

"I  don't  care — I'll  get  you  another  one,"  she  laughed 
through  her  tears. 

"Lock  out  there  again,  you're  smashing  my  game 
shoulder.  Got  er  Minie*  ball  in  that  one." 

"Well,  your  mouth's  all  right,  I  see,"  cried  the 
delighted  woman,  as  she  kissed  and  kissed  him. 

"Say,  Annie,  don't  be  so  greedy;  give  me  a  chance  at 
my  young  one."  Tom's  eyes  were  devouring  the 
excited  girl  who  had  drawn  nearer. 

"Come  and  kiss  your  Pappy  and  tell  him  how  glad 


A  Light  Shining  in  Darkness  21 

you  are  to  see  him!"  said  Tom,  gathering  her  in  his 
arms  and  attempting  to  carry  her  to  the  house. 

He  stumbled  and  fell.  In  a  moment  the  strong  arms 
of  his  wife  were  about  him  and  she  was  helping  him 
into  the  house. 

She  laid  him  tenderly  on  the  bed,  petted  him  and 
cried  over  him.  "My  poor  old  man,  he's  all  shot  and 
cut  to  pieces.  You're  so  weak,  Tom — I  can't  believe  it. 
You  were  so  strong.  But  we'll  take  care  of  you.  Don't 
you  worry.  You  just  sleep  a  week  and  then  rest  all 
summer  and  watch  us  work  the  garden  for  you!" 

He  lay  still  for  a  few  moments  with  a  smile  playing 
around  his  lips. 

"Lord,  ole  woman,  you  don't  know  how  nice  it  is  to 
be  petted  like  that,  to  hear  a  woman's  voice,  feel  her 
breath  on  your  face  and  the  touch  of  her  hand  warm 
and  soft,  after  four  years'  sleeping  on  dirt  and  living  with 
men  and  mules,  and  fightin'  and  runnin'  and  diggin' 
trenches  like  rats  and  moles,  killin'  men,  buryin'  the 
dead  like  carrion,  holdin'  men  while  doctors  sawed  their 
legs  off,  till  your  turn  came  to  be  held  and  sawed.  You 
can't  believe  it,  but  this  is  the  first  feather  bed  I've 
touched  in  four  years." 

"Well,  well — bless  God  it's  over  now!"  she  cried. 
"S'long  as  I've  got  two  strong  arms  to  slave  for  you — 
as  long  as  there's  a  piece  of  you  left  big  enough  to  hold 
on  to — I'll  work  for  you,"  and  again  she  bent  low  over/ 
his  pale  face,  and  crooned  over  him  as  she  had  so  often 
done  over  his  baby  in  those  four  lonely  years  of  war  and 
poverty. 

Suddenly  Tom  pushed  her  aside  and  sprang  up  in  bed. 

"  Geemimy,  Annie,  I  forgot  my  pardners — there's  two 
more  peg-legs  out  at  the  gate  by  this  time  waiting  for 
us  to  get  through  huggin'  and  carryin'  on  before  they 
come  in.  Run,  fetch  'em  in  quick!" 


22  The  Leopard's  Spots 

Tom  struggled  to  his  feet  and  met  them  at  the  door. 

"Come  right  into  my  palace,  boys.  I've  seen  some 
fine  places  in  my  time,  but  this  is  the  handsomest  one  I 
ever  set  syco  on.  Now,  Annie,  put  the  big  pot  in  the 
little  one  and  aon't  stand  back  for  expenses.  Let's  have 
a  dinner  these  fellers  '11  never  forget." 

It  was  a  least  they  never  forgot.  Tom's  wife  had 
raised  a  brood  of  early  chickens,  and  managed  to  keep 
them  from  being  stolen.  She  killed  four  of  them  and 
cooked  them  as  only  a  Southern  woman  knows  how. 
She  had  sweet  potatoes  carefully  saved  in  the  mound 
against  the  kitchen  chimney.  There  were  turnips  and 
greens  and  radishes,  young  onions  and  lettuce  and  hot- 
corn  dodgers  fit  for  a  king;  and  in  the  center  of  the  table 
she  deftly  fixed  a  pot  of  wild  flowers  little  Annie  had 
gathered.  She  did  not  tell  them  that  it  was  the  last  peck 
of  potatoes  and  the  last  pound  of  meal.  That  belonged 
to  the  morrow.  To-day  they  would  live. 

They  laughed  and  joked  over  this  splendid  banquet, 
and  told  stories  of  days  and  nights  of  hunger  and 
exhaustion,  when  they  had  filled  their  empty  stomachs 
with  dreams  of  home. 

"Miss  Camp,  you've  got  the  best  husband  in  seven 
states,  did  you  know  that?"  asked  one  of  the  soldiers, 
a  mere  boy. 

"Of  course  she'll  agree  to  that,  sonny, "  laughed  Tom. 

"Well,  it's  so.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  him,  Ma'am,  we'd 
'a'  been  peggin'  along  somewhere  way  up  in  Virginny 
'stead  o'  bein'  so  close  to  home.  You  see,  he  let  us  ride 
his  hoss  a  mile  and  then  he'd  ride  a  mile.  We  took  it 
turn  about,  and  here  we  are. " 

"Tom,  how  in  this  world  did  you  get  that  horse?" 
asked  his  wife. 

"  Honey,  I  got  him  on  my  good  looks, "  said  he  with 
a  wink.  "You  see,  I  was  'a'  settin'  out  there  in  the  sun 

2?  ?-//?/ 


A  Light  Shining  in  Darkness  23 

the  day  o'  the  surrender.  I  was  sorter  cryin'  and 
wonderin'  how  I'd  get  home  with  that  stump  of  wood 
instead  of  a  foot,  when  along  come  a  chunky,  heavy-set 
Yankee  general,  looking  as  glum  as  though  his  folks 
had  surrendered  instead  of  Marse  Robert.  He  saw  me, 
stopped,  looked  at  me  a  minute  right  hard  and  says, 
'Where  do  you  live?' 

"Way  down  in  ole  No'th  Caliny, '  I  says,  'at 
Hambright,  not  far  from  King's  Mountain. ' 

' '  How  are  you  going  to  get  home  ? '  says  he. 

"God  knows,  I  don't,  General.  I  got  a  wife  and  baby 
down  there  I  ain't  seed  fer  nigh  four  years,  and  I  want 
to  see  'em  so  bad  I  can  taste  'em.  I  was  lookin'  the 
other  way  when  I  said  that,  fer  I  was  purty  well  played 
out,  and  feelin'  weak  and  watery  about  the  eyes,  an'  I 
didn't  want  no  Yankee  general  to  see  water  in  my  eyes. ' 

"He  called  a  feller  to  him  and  sorter  snapped  out  to 
him,  'Go  bring  the  best  horse  you  can  spare  for  this 
man  and  give  it  to  him. ' 

"Then  he  turns  to  me  and  seed  I  was  all  choked  up 
and  couldn't  say  nothin'  and  says: 

'"I'm  General  Grant.  Give  my  love  to  your  folks 
when  you  get  home.  I've  known  what  it  was  to  be  a 
poor  white  man  down  South  myself  once  for  awhile. ' 

'"God  bless  you,  General.  I  thanks  you  from  the 
bottom  of  my  heart, '  I  says  as  quick  as  I  could  find  my 
tongue;  'if  it  had  to  be  surrender  I'm  glad  it  was  to 
such  a  man  as  you. ' 

"He  never  said  another  word,  but  just  walked  slow 
along  smoking  a  big  cigar.  So,  ole  woman,  you  know 
the  reason  I  named  that  hoss  '  General  Grant. '  It  may 
be  I've  seen  finer  bosses  than  that  one,  but  I  couldn't 
recollect  anything  about  'em  on  the  road  home. " 

Dinner  over,  Tom's  comrades  rose  and  looked  wist 
fully  down  the  dusty  road  leading  southwaH 


24  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"Well,  Tom,  ole  man,  we  gotter  be  er  movin', "  said  the 
older  of  the  two  soldiers.  "We're  powerful  obleeged 
to  you  fur  helpin'  us  along  this  fur." 

"All  right,  boys;  you'll  find  yer  train  standin'  on  the 
side  o'  the  track  eatin'  grass.  Jes  climb  up,  pull  the 
lever  and  let  her  go. " 

The  men's  faces  brightened,  their  lips  twitched.  They 
looked  at  Tom  and  then  at  the  old  horse.  They  looked 
down  the  long  dusty  road  stretching  over  hill  and 
valley,  hundreds  of  miles  south,  and  then  at  Tom's  wife 
and  child,  whispered  to  one  another  a  moment,  and  the 
elder  said: 

"No,  pardner;  you've  been  awful  good  to  us,  but 
we'll  get  along  somehow — we  can't  take  yer  hoss.  It's 
all  yer  got  now  ter  make  a  livin'  on  yer  place. " 

"All  I  got!"  shouted  Tom.  "Man  alive,  ain't  you 
seed  my  ole  woman,  as  fat  and  jolly  and  han'some  as 
when  I  married  her  'leven  years  ago?  Didn't  you  hear 
her  cryin'  an'  shoutin'  like  she's  crazy  when  I  got  home  ? 
Didn't  you  see  my  little  gal  with  eyes  jes  like  her 
daddy's?  Don't  you  see  my  cabin  standin'  as  purty  as  a 
ripe  peach  in  the  middle  of  the  orchard,  when  hundreds 
of  fine  houses  are  lyin'  in  ashes?  Ain't  I  got  ten  acres 
of  land?  Ain't  I  got  God  Almighty  above  me  and  all 
around  me,  the  same  God  that  watched  over  me  on  the 
battle-fields  ?  All  I  got  ?  That  old  stack  o'  bones  that 
looks  like  er  hoss  ?  Well,  I  reckon  not ! " 

"Pardner,  it  ain't  right,"  grumbled  the  soldier,  with 
more  of  cheerful  thanks  than  protest  in  his  voice. 

"Oh,  get  off,  you  fools!"  said  Tom,  good-naturedly. 
"Ain't  it  my  hoss ?  Can't  I  do  what  I  please  with  it ?  " 

So  with  hearty  hand-shakes  they  parted,  the  two 
astride  the  old  horse's  back.  One  had  lost  his  right 
leg,  the  other  his  left,  and  this  gave  them  a  good  leg 
on  each  side  to  hold  the  cargo  straight. 


A  Light  Shining  in  Darkness  25 

"Take  keer  yerself,  Tom!"  they  both  cried  in  the 
same  breath  as  they  moved  away. 

"Take  keer  yerselves,  boys;  I'm  all  right !"  answered 
Tom,  as  he  stumped  his  way  back  to  the  home.  "It's 
all  right,  it's  all  right,"  he  muttered  to  himself.  "He'd 
'a'  come  in  handy,  but  I'd  'a'  never  slept  thinkin'  o' 
them  peggin'  along  them  rough  roads." 

Before  reaching  the  house  he  sat  down  on  a  wooden 
bench  beneath  a  tree  to  rest.  It  was  the  first  week  in 
May  and  the  leaves  were  not  yet  grown.  The  sun  was 
pouring  his  hot  rays  down  into  the  moist  earth  and  the 
heat  began  to  feel  like  summer.  As  he  drank  in  the 
beauty  and  glory  of  the  spring  his  soul  was  melted  with 
joy.  The  fruit  trees  were  laden  with  the  promise  of  the 
treasures  of  the  summer  and  autumn,  a  catbird  was 
singing  softly  to  his  mate  in  the  tree  over  his  head,  and 
a  mocking-bird  seated  in  the  topmost  branch  of  an  elm 
near  his  cabin  home  was  leading  the  oratorio  of  feathered 
songsters.  The  wild  plum  and  blackberry  briers  were 
in  full  bloom  in  the  fence  corners,  and  the  sweet  odour 
filled  the  air.  He  heard  his  wife  singing  in  the 
house. 

"It's  a  fine  old  world  after  all!"  he  exclaimed, 
leaning  back  and  half  closing  his  eyes,  while  a  sense  of 
ineffable  peace  filled  his  soul.  "Peace  at  last!  Thank 
God !  May  I  never  see  a  gun  or  a  sword  or  hear  a  drum 
or  a  fife's  scream  on  this  earth  again  !" 

A  hound  came  close,  wagging  his  tail  and  whining  for 
a  word  of  love  and  recognition. 

"Well,  Bob,  old  boy,  you're  the  only  one  left.  You'll 
have  to  chase  cottontails  by  yourself  now."  ' 

Bob's  eyes  watered  and  he  licked  his  master's  hand, 
apparently  understanding  every  word  he  said. 

Breaking  from  his  master's  hands,  the  dog  ran  toward 
the  gate  barking,  and  Tom  rose  in  haste  as  he  recognised 


26  The  Leopard's  Spots 

the  sturdy  tread  of  the  Preacher,  Reverend  John 
Durham,  walking  rapidly  toward  the  house. 

Grasping  him  heartily  by  the  hand  the  Preacher  said: 

"Tom,  you  don't  know  how  it  warms  my  soul  to  look 
into  your  face  again.  When  you  left  I  felt  like  a  man 
who  had  lost  one  hand.  I've  found  it  to-day.  You're 
the  same  stalwart  Christian  full  of  joy  and  love.  Some 
men's  religion  didn't  stand  the  wear  and  tear  of  war. 
You've  come  out  with  your  soul  like  gold  tried  in  the 
fire.  Colonel  Gaston  wrote  me  you  were  the  finest 
soldier  in  the  regiment,  and  that  you  were  the  only 
Chaplain  he  had  seen  that  he  could  consult  for  his  own 
soul's  cheer.  That's  the  kind  of  a  deacon  to  send  to 
the  front.  I'm  proud  of  you,  and  you're  still  at  your 
old  tricks.  I  met  two  one-legged  soldiers  down  the 
road  riding  your  horse  away  as  though  you  had  a 
stableful  at  your  command.  You  needn't  apologise  or 
explain:  they  told  me  all  about  it." 

"Preacher,  it's  good  to  have  the  Lord's  messenger 
speak  words  like  them.  I  can't  tell  you  how  glad  I  am 
to  be  home  again  and  shake  your  hand.  I  tell  you  it 
was  a  comfort  to  me  when  I  lay  awake  at  night  on  them 
battle-fields,  a-wonderin'  what  had  become  of  my  ole 
woman  and  the  baby,  to  recollect  that  you  were  here, 
and  how  often  I'd  heard  you  tell  us  how  the  Lord 
tempered  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb.  Annie's  been 
telling  me  who  watched  out  for  her  them  dark  days 
when  there  was  nothin'  to  eat.  I  reckon  you  and  your 
wife  knows  the  way  to  this  house  about  as  well  as  you 
do  to  the  church." 

Tom  had  pulled  the  Preacher  down  on  the  seat  beside 
him  while  he  said  this. 

"The  dark  days  have  only  begun,  Tom.  I've  come 
to  see  you  to  have  you  cheer  me  up.  Somehow  you 
always  seemed  to  me  to  be  closer  to  God  than  any  man 


A  Light  Shining  in  Darkness  27 

in  the  church.  You  will  need  all  your  faith  now.  It 
seems  to  me  that  every  second  woman  I  know  is  a 
widow.  Hundreds  of  families  have  no  seed  even  to 
plant,  no  horses  to  work  crops,  no  men  who  will  work 
if  they  had  horses.  What  are  we  to  do  ?  I  see  hungry 
children  in  every  house." 

' '  Preacher,  the  Lord  is  looking  down  here  to-day  and 
sees  all  this  as  plain  as  you  and  me.  As  long  as  He  is 
in  the  sky  everything  will  come  all  right  on  the  earth." 

"How's  your  pantry?"  asked  the  Preacher. 

"Don't  know.  'Man  shall  not  live  by  bread  alone,' 
you  know.  When  I  hear  these  birds  in  the  trees  an' 
see  this  old  dog  waggin'  his  tail  at  me,  and  smell  the 
breath  of  them  flowers,  and  it  all  comes  over  me  that  I'm 
done  killin'  men,  and  I'm  at  home,  with  a  bed  to  sleep 
on,  a  roof  over  my  head,  a  woman  to  pet  me  and  tell 
me  I'm  great  and  handsome,  I  don't  feel  like  I'll  ever 
need  anything  more  to  eat.  I  believe  I  could  live  a 
whole  month  here  without  eatin'  a  bite." 

"Good.  You  come  to  the  prayer  meeting  to-night 
and  say  a  few  things  like  that,  and  the  folks  will  believe 
they  have  been  eating  three  square  meals  every  day." 

"I'll  be  there.  I  ain't  asked  Annie  what  she's  got, 
but  I  know  she's  got  greens  and  turnips,  onions  and 
collards,  and  strawberries  in  the  garden.  Irish  'taters  '11 
be  big  enough  to  eat  in  three  weeks,  and  sweets  comin' 
right  c  i.  We've  got  a  few  chickens.  The  blackberries 
and  pi  ms  and  peaches  and  apples  are  all  on  the  road. 
Ah,  Pi  :acher,  it's  my  soul  that's  been  starved  away 
from  n  7  wife  and  child !" 

"You  don't  know  how  much  I  need  help  sometimes, 
Tom.  I  am  always  giving,  giving  myself  in  sympathy 
and  help  to  others;  I'm  famished  now  and  then.  I 
feel  faint  and  worn  out.  You  seem  to  fill  me  again 
with  life." 


28  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,  Preacher.  I  get 
downhearted  sometimes,  when  I  recollect  I'm  nothin' 
but  a  poor  white  man.  I'll  remember  your  words. 
I'm  going  to  do  my  part  in  the  church  work.  You 
know  where  to  find  me." 

"Well,  that's  partly  what  brought  me  here  this 
morning.  I  want  you  to  help  me  look  after  Mrs.  Gaston 
and  her  little  boy.  She  is  prostrated  over  the  death  of 
the  Colonel  and  is  hanging  between  life  and  death.  She 
is  in  a  delirious  condition  all  the  time  and  must  be 
watched  day  and  night.  I  want  you  to  watch  the  first 
half  of  the  night  with  Nelse,  and  Eve  and  Mary  will 
watch  the  last  half." 

"Of  course,  I'll  do  anything  in  the  world  I  can  for 
my  Colonel's  widder.  He  was  the  bravest  man  that 
ever  led  a  regiment,  and  he  was  a  father  to  us  boys.  I'll 
be  there.  But  I  won't  set  up  with  that  nigger.  He 
can  go  to  bed." 

"Tom,  it's  a  funny  thing  to  me  that  as  good  a  Christian 
as  you  are  should  hate  a  nigger  so.  He's  a  human  being. 
It's  not  right." 

"  He  may  be  human,  Preacher;  I  don't  know.  To  tell 
you  the  truth,  I  have  my  doubts.  Anyhow,  I  can't  help 
it.  God  knows  I  hate  the  sight  of  'em  like  I  do  a  rattle 
snake.  That  nigger  Nelse,  they  say,  is  a  good  one.  He 
was  faithful  to  the  Colonel,  I  know,  but  I  couldn't  bear 
him  no  more  than  any  of  the  rest  of  'em.  I  always 
hated  a  nigger  since  I  was  knee-high.  My  dad  ly  and 
my  mammy  hated  'em  before  me.  Somehow,  we  always 
felt  like  they  was  crowdin'  us  to  death  on  tl-3m  big 
plantations,  and  the  little  ones,  too.  And  then  I  had 
to  leave  my  wife  and  baby  and  fight  four  years,  all  on 
account  of  their  stinkin'  hides,  that  never  done  nothin' 
for  me  except  make  it  harder  to  live.  Every  time  I'd 
go  into  battle  and  hear  them  Minie  balls  begin  to  sing 


A  Light  Shining  in  Darkness  29 

over  us,  it  seemed  to  me  I  could  see  their  black  ape-faces 
grinnin'  and  makin'  fun  of  poor  whites.  At  night  when 
they'd  detail  me  to  help  the  ambulance  corps  carry  off 
the  dead  and  wounded,  there  was  a  strange  smell  on 
the  field  that  came  from  the  blood  and  night  damp  and 
burnt  powder.  It  always  smelled  like  a  nigger  to  me. 
It  made  me  sick.  Yes,  Preacher,  God  forgive  me,  I 
hate  'em !  I  can't  help  it  any  more  than  I  can  the ; 
colour  of  my  skin  or  my  hair." 

"I'll  fix  it  with  Nelse,  then.  You  take  the  first  part 
of  the  night  till  twelve  o'clock.  I'll  go  down  with  you 
from  the  church  to-night,"  said  the  Preacher,  as  he 
shook  Tom  s  hand  and  took  his  leave. 


CHAPTER   III 
DEEPENING  SHADOWS 

ON  the  second  day  after  Mrs.  Gaston  was  stricken 
a  forlorn  little  boy  sat  in  the  kitchen  watching 
Aunt  Eve  get  supper.  He  saw  her  nod  while 
she  worked  the  dough  for  the  biscuits. 

"Aunt  Eve,  I'm  going  to  sit  up  to-night  and  every 
night  with  my  Mamma,  till  she  gets  well.  I  can't  sleep 
for  hours  and  hours.  I  lie  awake  and  cry  when  I  hear 
her  talking  till  I  feel  like  I'll  die.  I  must  do  something 
to  help  her." 

"Laws,  honey,  you'se  too  little.  You  can't  keep 
'wake  'tall.  You  get  so  lonesome  and  skeered  all  by 
yerself." 

"I  don't  care.  I've  told  Tom  to  wake  me  to-night 
if  I'm  asleep  when  he  goes,  and  I'll  sit  up  from  twelve 
till  two  o'clock  and  then  call  you." 

"All  right,  Mammy's  darlin'  boy,  but  you  git  tired  en 
can't  stan'  it." 

So  that  night  at  midnight  he  took  his  place  by  the 
bedside.  His  mother  was  sleeping,  at  first.  He  sat 
and  gazed  with  aching  heart  at  her  still,  white  face. 
She  stirred,  opened  her  eyes,  saw  him,  and  imagined  he 
was  his  father. 

"Dsarie,  I  knew  you  would  come,"  she  murmured. 
"They  told  me  you  were  dead ;  but  I  knew  better.  What 
a  long,  long  time  you  have  been  away.  How  brown  the 
sun  has  tanned  your  face,  but  it's  just  as  handsome.  I 
think  handsomer  than  ever.  And  how  like  you  is  little 
Charlie !  I  knew  you  would  be  proud  of  him  !" 

3° 


Deepening  Shadows  ,    31 

While  she  talked,  her  eyes  had  a  glassy  look,  that 
seemed  to  take  no  note  of  anything  in  the  room. 

The  child  listened  for  ten  minutes,  and  then  the  horror 
of  her  strange  voice  and  look  and  words  overwhelmed 
him.  He  burst  into  tears  and  threw  his  arms  around  his 
mother's  neck  and  sobbed. 

"Oh!  Mamma,  dear,  it's  me,  Charlie,  your  little  boy, 
who  loves  you  so  much.  Please,  don't  talk  that  way. 
Please  look  at  me  like  you  used  to.  There !  Let  me 
kiss  your  eyes  till  they  are  soft  and  sweet  again ! " 

He  covered  her  eyes  with  kisses. 

The  mother  seemed  dazed  for  a  moment,  held  him  off 
at  arms'  length,  and  then  burst  into  laughter. 

"Of  course,  you  silly,  I  know  you.  You  must  run  to 
bed  now.  Kiss  me  good-night." 

"But  you  are  si?k,  Mamma;  I  am  sitting  up  -with 
you." 

Again  she  ignored  his  presence.  She  was  back  in  the 
old  days  with  her  love.  She  was  kissing  her  hand  to 
him  as  he  left  her  for  his  day's  work.  Charlie  looked 
at  the  clock.  It  was  time  to  give  her  the  soothing 
drops  the  doctor  left.  She  took  it,  obedient  as  a  child, 
and  went  on  and  on  with  interminable  dreams  of  the 
past,  now  and  then  uttering  strange  things  for  a  boy's 
ears.  But  so  terrible  was  the  anguish  with  which  he 
watched  her,  the  words  made  little  impression  on  his 
mind.  It  seemed  to  him  some  one  was  strangling  him 
to  death,  and  a  great  stone  was  piled  on  his  little 
prostrate  body. 

When  she  grew  quiet,  at  last,  and  dozed,  how  still  the 
house  seemed  !  How  loud  the  tick  of  the  clock !  How 
slowly  the  hands  moved !  He  had  never  noticed  this 
before.  He  watched  the  hands  for  five  minutes.  It 
seemed  each  minute  was  an  hour,  and  five  minutes  were 
as  long  as  a  day.  What  strange  noises  in  the  house ! 


32  The  Leopard's  Spots 

Suppose  a  ghost  should  walk  into  the  room !  Well,  he 
wouldn't  run  and  leave  his  Mamma;  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  that. 

Some  nights  there  were  other  sounds  more  ominous. 
The  town  was  crowded  with  strange  negroes,  who  were 
hanging  around  the  camp  of  the  garrison.  One  night  a 
drunken  gang  came  shouting  and  screaming  up  the  alley 
close  beside  the  house,  firing  pistols  and  muskets. 
They  stopped  at  the  house,  and  one  of  them  yelled, 

"Burn  the  rebel's  house  down.     It's  our  turn  now!" 

The  terrified  boy  rushed  to  the  kitchen  and  called 
Nelse.  In  a  minute  Nelse  was  on  the  scene.  There 
was  no  more  trouble  that  night. 

"De  lazy  black  debbels,"  said  Nelse,  as  he  mopped 
the  perspiration  from  his  brow,  "I'll  teach  'em  what 
freedom  is." 

The  next  day  when  the  Reverend  John  Durham  had 
an  interview  with  the  Commandant  of  the  troops,  he 
succeeded  in  getting  a  consignment  of  corn  for  seed,  and 
to  meet  the  threat  of  starvation  among  some  families 
whose  condition  he  reported.  This  important  matter 
settled,  he  said  to  the  officer: 

"Captain,  we  must  look  to  you  for  protection.  The 
town  is  swarming  with  vagrant  negroes,  bent  on  mis 
chief.  There  are  camp  followers  with  you  organising 
them  into  some  sort  of  Union  League  meetings,  dealing 
out  arms  and  ammunition  to  them,  and,  what  is  worse, 
inflaming  the  worst  passions  against  their  former 
masters,  teaching  them  insolence  and  training  them 
for  crime," 

"I'll  do  the  best  I  can  for  you,  Doctor,  but  I  can't 
control  the  camp  followers  who  are  organising  the 
Union  League.  They  live  a  charmed  life." 

That  night,  as  the  Preacher  walked  home  from  a  visit 
to  a  destitute  family,  he  encountered  a  burly  negro  on 


Deepening  Shadows  33 

the  sidewalk,  dressed  in  an  old  suit  of  Federal  uniform, 
evidently  under  the  influence  of  whisky.  He  wore 
a  belt  around  his  waist,  in  which  he  had  thrust  con 
spicuously  an  old  horse  pistol.  i 

Standing  squarely  across  the  pathway,  he  said  ta 
the  Preacher, 

"Git  outer  de  road,  white  man;  you'se  er  rebel,  I'se 
er  Loyal  Union  Leaguer!" 

It  was  his  first  experience  with  Negro  insolence  since 
the  emancipation  of  his  slaves.  Quick  as  a  flash,  his 
right  arm  was  raised.  But  he  took  a  second  thought, 
stepped  aside,  and  allowed  the  drunken  fool  to  pass. 
He  went  home  wondering  in  a  hazy  sort  of  way  through 
his  excited  passions  what  the  end  of  it  all  would  be. 
Gradually  in  his  mind  for  days  this  towering  figure  of 
the  freed  Negro  had  been  growing  more  and  more 
ominous,  until  its  menace  overshadowed  the  poverty, 
the  hunger,  the  sorrow  and  the  devastation  of  the  South, 
throwing  the  blight  of  its  shadow  over  future  generations-, 
a  veritable  Black  Death  for  the  land  and  its  people. 


CHAPTER  IV 
MR.  LINCOLN'S  DREAM 

EVERY  morning  before  the  Preacher  could  finish 
his  breakfast,  callers  were  knocking  at  the  door 
— the  negro,  the  poor  white,  the  widow,  the 
orphan,  the  wounded,  the  hungry:  an  endless  procession. 

The  spirit  of  the  returned  soldiers  was  all  that  he 
could  ask.  There  was  nowhere  a  slumbering  spark  of 
war.  There  was  not  the  slightest  effort  to  continue  the 
lawless  habits  of  four  years  of  strife.  Everywhere  the 
spirit  of  patience,  self-restraint  and  hope  marked  the 
life  of  the  men  who  had  made  the  most  terrible  soldiery. 
They  were  glad  to  be  done  with  war  and  have  the 
opportunity  to  rebuild  their  broken  fortunes.  They 
were  glad,  too,  that  the  everlasting  question  of  a  divided 
Union  was  settled  and  settled  forever.  There  was  now 
to  be  one  country  and  one  flag,  and  deep  down  in  their 
souls  they  were  content  with  it. 

The  spectacle  of  this  terrible  army  of  the  Confederacy, 
the  memory  of  whose  battle-cry  yet  thrills  the  world, 
transformed  in  a  month  into  patient  and  hopeful 
workmen,  has  never  been  paralleled  in  history. 

Who  destroyed  this  scene  of  peaceful  rehabilitation  ? 
Hell  has  no  pit  dark  enough,  and  no  damnation  deep 
enough,  for  these  conspirators  when  once  history  has 
fixed  their  guilt. 

The  task  before  the  people  of  the  South  was  on«  to 
tax  the  genius  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race  as  never  in  its 
history,  even  had  every  friendly  aid  possible  been 
extended  by  the  victorious  North.  Four  million 

34 


Mr.  Lincoln's  Dream  35 

negroes  had  suddenly  been  freed,  and  the  foundations  of 
economic  order  destroyed.  Five  billions  of  dollars'  worth- 
of  property  were  wiped  out  of  existence,  banks  closed, 
every  dollar  of  money  worthless  paper,  the  country 
plundered  by  victorious  armies,  its  cities,  mills  and 
homes  burned,  and  the  flower  of  its  manhood  buried  in 
nameless  trenches,  or  worse  still,  flung  upon  the  charity 
of  poverty,  maimed  wrecks.  The  task  of  organising  this 
wrecked  society  and  marshalling  into  efficient  citizenship 
this  host  of  ignorant  negroes,  and  yet  to  preserve  the 
civilisat:on  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race,  the  priceless 
heritage  ol  t\vo  .thousand  years  of  struggle,  was  one  to 
appal  the  wisdom  of  ages.  Honestly  and  earnestly  the 
white  people  of  the  South  set  about  this  work,  and 
accepted  the  Thirteenth  Amendment  to  the  Constitution 
abolishing  slavery  without  a  protesting  vote. 

The  President  issued  his  proclamation  announcing 
the  method  of  restoring  the  Union  as  it  had  been  handed 
to  him  from  the  martyred  Lincoln,  and  indorsed 
unanimously  by  Lincoln's  Cabinet.  This  plan  was 
simple,  broad  and  statesmanlike,  and  its  spirit  breathed 
Fraternity  and  Union  with  malice  toward  none  and 
charity  toward  all.  It  declared  what  Lincoln  had 
always  taught,  that  the  Union  was  indestructible,  that 
the  rebellious  states  had  now  only  to  repudiate  Secession, 
abolish  slavery,  and  resume  their  positions  in  the 
Union,  to  preserve  which  so  many  lives  had  been 
sacrificed. 

The  people  of  North  Carolina  accepted  this  plan  in 
good  faith.  They  elected  a  Legislature  composed  of 
the  noblest  men  of  the  state,  and  chose  an  old  Union 
man,  Andrew  Macon,  Governor.  Against  Macon  was 
pitted  the  man  who  was  now  the  president  and  organiser 
of  a  federation  of  secret  oath-bound  societies,  of  which 
the  Union  League,  destined  to  play  s<?  tragic  a  part  in 


36  The  Leopard's  Spots 

the  drama  about  to  follow,  was  the  type.  This  man, 
Amos  Hogg,  was  a  writer  of  brilliant  and  forceful  style. 
Before  the  war,  a  virulent  Secessionist  leader,  he  had 
justified  and  upheld  slavery,  and  had  writtei?  a  volume 
of  poems  dedicated  to  John  C.  Calhoun.  He  had  led 
the  movement  for  Secession  in  the  Convention  which 
passed  the  ordinance.  But  when  he  saw  his  ship  was 
sinking,  he  turned  his  back  upon  the  "errors"  of  the 
past,  professed  the  most  loyal  Union  sentiments,  wormed 
himself  into  the  confidence  of  the  Federal  Government, 
and  actually  succeeded  in  securing  the  position  of 
Provisional  Governor  of  the  state  !  He  loudly  professed 
his  loyalty,  and  with  fury  and  malice  demanded  that 
Vance,  the  great  war  Governor,  his  predecessor,  who, 
as  a  Union  man  had  opposed  Secession,  should  now  be 
hanged,  and  with  him  his  own  former  associates  in  the 
Secession  Convention,  whom  he  had  misled  with  his 
brilliant  pen. 

But  the  people  had  a  long  memory.  They  saw 
through  this  hollow  pretense,  grieved  for  their  great 
leader,  who  was  now  locked  in  a  prison  cell  in 
Washington  and  voted  for  Andrew  Macon. 

In  the  bitterness  of  defeat,  Amos  Hogg  sharpened 
his  wits  and  his  pen  and  began  his  schemes  of  revengeful 
ambition. 

The  fires  of  passion  burned  now  in  the  hearts  of  hosts 
of  cowards,  North  and  South,  who  had  not  met  their 

a 

foe  in  battle.  Their  day  had  come.  The  times  were 
ripe  for  the  Apostles  of  Revenge  and  their  breed  of 
statesmen. 

The  Preacher  threw  the  full  weight  of  his  character 
and  influence  to  defeat  Hogg,  and  he  succeeded  in 
carrying  the  county  for  Macon  by  an  overwhelming 
majority.  At  the  election  only  the  men  who  had  voted 
under  the  old  regime  were  allowed  to  vote.  The 


Mr.  Lincoln's  Dream  37 

Preacher  had  not  appeared  on  the  hustings  as  a  speaker, 
but  as  an  organiser  and  leader  of  opinion  he  was  easily 
the  most  powerful  man  in  the  county,  and  one  of  the 
most  powerful  in  the  state. 


CHAPTER  V 
THE  OLD  AND  THE  NEW  CHURCH 

IN  the  village  of  Hambright  the  church  was  the 
center  of  gravity  of  the  life  of  the  people. 
There  were  but  two  churches,  the  Baptist 
and  the  Methodist.  The  Episcopalians  had  a  build 
ing,  but  it  was  built  by  the  generosity  of  one  of 
their  dead  members.  There  were  four  Presbyterian 
families  in  town,  and  they  were  working  desperately 
to  build  a  church.  The  Baptists  had  really  taken  the 
county,  and  the  Methodists  were  their  only  rivals. 
The  Baptists  had  fifteen  flourishing  churches  in  the 
county,  the  Methodists  six.  There  were  no  others. 

The  meetings  at  the  Baptist  church  in  the  village  of 
Hambright  were  the  most  important  gatherings  in  the 
county.  On  Sunday  mornings  everybody  who  could 
walk,  young  and  old,  saint  and  sinner,  went  to  church, 
and  by  far  the  larger  number  to  the  Baptist  church. 

You  could  tell  by  the  stroke  of  the  bell  that  the 
two  were  rivals.  The  sextons  acquired  a  peculiar  skill 
in  ringing  these  bells  with  a  snap  and  a  jerk  that  smashed 
the  clapper  against  the  side  in  a  stroke  that  spoke 
defiance  to  all  rival  bells,  warning  of  everlasting  fire  to 
all  sinners  that  should  stay  away,  and  due  notice  to 
the  saints  that  even  an  apostle  might  become  a  cast 
away  unless  he  made  haste. 

The  men  occupied  one  side  of  the  house,  the  women 
the  other.  Only  very  small  boys  accompanying  their 
mothers  were  to  be  seen  on  the  woman's  side,  together 

38 


The  Old  and  the  New  Church          39 

with  a  few  young  men  who  fearlessly  escorted  thither 
their  sweethearts. 

Before  the  services  began,  between  the  ringing  of  the 
first  and  second  bells,  the  men  gathered  in  groups  in 
the  churchyard  and  discussed  grave  questions  of 
politics  and  weather.  The  services  over,  the  men 
lingered  in  the  yard  to  shake  hands  with  neighbours, 
praise  or  criticise  the  sermon,  and  once  more  discuss 
great  events.  The  boys  gathered  in  quiet,  wistful 
groups  and  watched  the  girls  come  slowly  out  of  the 
other  door,  and  now  and  then  a  daring  youngster 
summoned  courage  to  ask  to  see  one  of  them  home. 

The  services  were  of  the  simplest  kind.  The  singing 
of  the  old  hymns  of  Zion,  the  reading  of  the  Bible,  the 
prayer,  the  collection,  the  sermon,  the  Benediction. 

The  Preacher  never  touched  on  politics,  no  matter 
what  the  event  under  whose  world  import  his  people 
gathered.  War  was  declared,  and  fought  for  four 
terrible  years.  Lee  surrendered,  the  slaves  were  freed, 
and  society  was  torn  from  the  foundations  of  centuries, 
but  you  would  never  have  known  it  from  the  lips  of  the 
Reverend  John  Durham  in  his  pulpit.  These  things 
were  but  passing  events.  When  he  ascended  the  pulpit 
he  was  the  Messenger  of  Eternity.  He  spoke  of  God, 
of  truth,  of  righteousness,  of  judgment,  the  same 
yesterday,  to-day  and  forever. 

Only  in  his  prayers  did  he  come  closer  to  the  inner 
thoughts  and  perplexities  of  the  daily  life  of  the  people. 
He  was  a  man  of  remarkable  power  in  the  pulpit.  His 
mastery  of  the  Bible  was  profound.  He  could  speak 
pages  of  direct  discourse  in  its  very  language.  To  him 
it  was  a  divine  alphabet,  from  whose  letters  he  could 
compose  the  most  impassioned  message  to  the  individual 
hearer  before  him.  Its  literature,  its  poetic  fire,  the  epic 
sweep  of  the  Old  Testament  record  of  life,  were  inwrought 


40  The  Leopard's  Spots 

into  the  very  fiber  of  his  soul.  As  a  preacher  he  spoke 
with  authority.  He  was  narrow  and  dogmatic  in  his 
interpretation  of  the  Bible,  but  his  very  narrowness  and 
dogmatism  were  of  his  flesh  and  blood,  elements  of  his 
power.  He  never  stooped  to  controversy.  He  simply 
announced  the  truth.  The  wise  received  it.  The 
fools  rejected  it  and  were  damned.  That  was  all  there 
was  to  it. 

But  it  was  in  his  public  prayers  that  he  was  at  his 
best.  Here  all  the  wealth  of  tenderness  of  a  great  soul 
was  laid  bare.  In  these  prayers  he  had  the  subtle 
genius  that  could  find  the  way  direct  into  the  hearts  of 
the  people  before  him,  realise  as  his  own  their  sins  and 
sorrows,  their  burdens  and  hopes  and  dreams  and  fears, 
and  then,  when  he  had  made  them  his  own,  he  could 
give  them  the  wings  of  deathless  words  and  carry  them 
up  to  the  heart  of  God.  He  prayed  in  a  low,  soft  tone 
of  voice;  it  was  like  an  honest,  earnest  child  pleading 
with  his  father.  What  a  hush  fell  on  the  people  when 
these  prayers  began !  With  what  breathless  suspense 
every  earnest  soul  followed  him ! 

Before  and  during  the  war  the  gallery  of  this  church, 
which  was  built  and  reserved  for  the  Negroes,  was 
always  crowded  with  dusky  listeners  that  hung  spell 
bound  on  his  words.  Now  there  were  only  a  few,  perhaps 
a  dozen,  and  they  were  growing  fewer.  Some  new  and 
mysterious  power  was  at  work  among  the  Negroes, 
sowing  the  seeds  of  distrust  and  suspicion.  He  wondered 
what  it  could  be.  He  had  always  loved  to  preach  to 
these  simple-hearted  children  of  nature,  and  watch  the 
flash  of  resistless  emotion  sweep  their  dark  faces.  He 
had  baptised  more  than  five  hundred  of  them  into  the 
fellowship  of  the  churches  in  the  village  and  the  county 
during  the  ten  years  of  his  ministry. 

He  determined  to  find  out  the  cause  of  this  desertion 


The  Old  and  the  New  Church  ,        41 

of  his  church  by  the  Negroes  to  whom  he  had  ministered 
so  many  years. 

At  the  close  of  a  Sunday  morning's  service,  Nelse 
was  slowly  descending  the  gallery  stairs,  leading  Charlie 
Gaston  by  the  hand,  after  the  church  had  been  nearly 
emptied  of  the  white  people.  The  Preacher  stopped 
him  near  the  door. 

"How's  your  Mistress,  Nelse?" 

"She's  gettin'  better  all  de  time  now,  praise  de  Lawd. 
Eve  she  stay  wid  'er  dis  mornin',  while  I  fetch  dis  boy 
ter  chu'ch.  He  des  so  sot  on  goin'." 

"Where  are  all  the  other  folks  who  used  to  fill  that 
gallery,  Nelse?" 

"You  doan'  tell  me  you  ain't  heard  about  dem?"  he 
answered  with  a  grin. 

"Well,  I  haven't  heard,  and  I  want  to  hear." 

"De  laws-a-massy,  dey  done  got  er  church  er  dey 
own !  Dey  has  meetin'  now  in  de  schoolhouse  dat 
Yankee  'oman  built.  De  teachers  tell  'em  ef  dey  ain't 
good  ernuf  ter  set  wid  de  white  folks  in  dere  chu'ch, 
dey  got  ter  hole  up  dey  haids,  and  not  'low  nobody  ter 
push  'em  up  in  er  nigger  gallery.  So  dey's  got  ole  Uncle 
Josh  Miller  to  preach  fur  'em.  He  'low  he  got  er  call, 
en  he  stan'  up  dar  en  holler  fur  'em  bout  er  hour  ev'ry 
Sunday  mawnin'  en  night.  En  sech  whoopin',  en 
yellin',  en  bawlin' !  Yer  can  hear  'em  er  mile.  Dey 
tries  ter  git  me  ter  go.  I  tell  'em  Marse  John  Durham's 
preachin's  good  ernuf  fur  me,  gall'ry  er  no  gall'ry.  I 
tell  'ern  dat  I  spec  er  gall'ry  nigher  heaven  den  de  lower 
flo'  enyhow — en  fuddermo',  dat  when  I  goes  ter  chu'ch 
I  wants  ter  hear  sumfin'  mo'  dan  er  ole  fool  nigger  er 
bawlin'.  I  can  holler  myself.  En  dey  'low  I  gwine 
back  on  my  colour.  En  den  I  tell  'em  I  spec  I  ain't  so 
proud  dat  I  can't  larn  fum  white  folks.  En  dey  say 
dey  gwine  ter  lay  fur  me  yit." 


42  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"I'm  sorry  to  hear  this,"  said  the  Preacher  thought 
fully. 

"Yassir,  hit's  des  lak  I  tell  yer.  I  spec  dey  gone  fur 
good.  Niggers  aint  got  no  sense  nohow.  I  des  wish 
I  own  'em  erbout  er  week !  Dey  gitten  madder'n 
madder  et  me  all  de  time  'case  I  stay  at  de  ole  place  en 
wuk  fer  my  po'  sick  Mistus.  Dey  sen'  er  kermittee 
ter  see  me  mos'  ev'ry  day  ter  'splain  ter  me  I'se  free. 
De  las'  time  dey  come  I  lam  one  on  de  haid  wid  er  stick 
er  wood  erfo'  dey  leave  me  lone." 

"You  must  be  careful,  Nelse." 

"  Yassir,  I  nebber  hurt  'im.  Des  sorter  crack  his  skull 
er  little  ter  show  'im  what  I  gwine  do  wid  'im  nex'  time 
dey  come  pesterin'  me." 

"Have  they  been  back  to  see  you  since?" 

"Dat  dey  ain't.  But  dey  sont  me  word  dey  gwine 
git  de  Freeman's  Buro  atter  me.  En  I  sont  'em  back 
word  ter  sen'  Mr.  Buro  right  on  en  I  land  'im  in  de 
middle  er  a  spell  er  sickness,  des  es  sho'  es  de  Lawd 
gimme  strenk." 

"You  can't  resist  the  Freedman's  Bureau,   Nelse." 

"What  dat  Buro  got  ter  do  wid  me,  Marse  John?" 

"They've  got  everything  to  do  with  you,  my  boy. 
They  have  absolute  power  over  all  questions  between 
the  Negro  and  the  white  man.  They  can  prohibit  you 
from  working  for  a  white  person  without  their  consent, 
and  they  can  fix  your  wages  and  make  your  contracts." 

"Well,  dey  better  lemme  erlone,  or  dere'll  be  trouble 
in  dis  town,  sho's  my  name's  Nelse." 

"Don't  you  resist  their  officer.  Come  to  me  if  you 
get  into  trouble  with  them,"  was  the  Preacher's  parting 
injunction. 

Nelse  made  his  way  out,  leading  Charlie  by  the  hand 
and  bowing  his  giant  form  in  a  quaint,  deferential  way 
to  the  white  people  he  knew.  He  seemed  proud  of  his 


The  Old  and  the  New  Church          43 

association  in  the  church  with  the  whites,  and  the  posi 
tion  of  inferiority  assigned  him  in  no  sense  disturbed 
his  pride.  He  was  muttering  to  himself  as  he  walked 
slowly  along  looking  down  at  the  ground  thoughtfully. 
There  was  infinite  scorn  and  defiance  in  his  voice. 

"Bu-ro!     Bu-ro!    Des   let    'em  fool   wid  me!    I'll 
make  'em  see  de  seben  stars  in  de  middle  er  de  day!" 


CHAPTER  VI 
THE  PREACHER  AND  THE  WOMAN  OF  BOSTON 

THE  next  day  the  Preacher  had  a  call  from  Miss 
Susan  Walker,  of  Boston,  whose  liberality  had 
built  the  new  negro  schoolhouse  and  whose 
life  and  fortune  was  devoted  to  the  education  and 
elevation  of  the  Negro  race.  She  had  been  in  the  village 
often  within  the  year,  running  up  from  Independence, 
where  she  was  building  and  endowing  a  magnificent 
classical  college  for  Negroes.  He  had  often  heard  of 
her,  but  as  she  stopped  with  Negroes  when  on  her  visits 
he  had  never  met  her.  He  was  especially  interested  in 
her  after  hearing  incidentally  that  she  was  a  member 
of  a  Baptist  church  in  Boston. 

On  entering  the  parlour  the  Preacher  greeted  his 
visitor  with  the  deference  the  typical  Southern  man 
instinctively  pays  to  woman. 

"I  am  pleased  to  meet  you,  Madam,"  he  said  with 
a  graceful  bow  and  kindly  smile,  as  he  led  her  to  the 
most  comfortable  seat  he  could  find. 

She  looked  him  squarely  in  the  face  for  a  moment  as 
though  surprised,  and  smilingly  replied: 

"I  believe  you  Southern  men  are  all  alike — woman 
flatterers.  You  have  a  way  of  making  every  woman 
believe  you  think  her  a  queen.  It  pleases  me,  I  can't 
help  confessing  it,  though  I  sometimes  despise  myself 
for  it.  But  I  am  not  going  to  give  you  an  opportunity 
to  feed  my  vanity  this  morning.  I've  come  for  a  plain 
face  to  face  talk  with  you  on  the  one  subject  that  fills 
my  heart — my  work  among  the  Freedmen.  You  are  a 


The  Preacher  and  the  Woman  of  Boston    45 

Baptist  minister.  I  have  a  right  to  your  friendship 
and  cooperation." 

A  cloud  overshadowed  the  Preacher's  face  as  he 
seated  himself.  He  said  nothing  for  a  moment,  looking 
curiously  and  thoughtfully  at  his  visitor. 

He  seemed  to  be  studying  her  character  and  to  be 
puzzled  by  the  problem.  She  was  a  woman  of  prepos 
sessing  appearance,  well  past  thirty-five,  with  streaks 
of  gray  appearing  in  her  smoothly  brushed  back  hair. 
She  was  dressed  plainly  in  rich  brown  material  cut  in 
tailor  fashion,  and  her  heavy  hair  was  drawn  straight  up 
pompadour  style  from  her  forehead  with  apparent  care 
lessness  and  yet  in  a  way  that  heightened  the  impression 
of  strength  and  beauty  in  her  face.  Her  nose  was  the 
one  feature  that  gave  warning  of  trouble  in  an  encounter. 
She  was  plump  in  figure,  almost  stout,  and  her  nose 
seemed  too  small  for  the  breadth  of  her  face.  It  was 
broad  enough,  but  too  short,  and  was  pug-tipped  slightly 
at  the  end.  She  fell  just  a  little  short  of  being  handsome 
and  this  nose  was  responsible  for  the  failure.  It  gave 
to  her  face  when  agitated,  in  spite  of  evident  culture 
and  refinement,  the  expression  of  a  feminine  bulldog. 

Her  eyes  were  flashing  now,  and  her  nostrils  opened 
a  little  wider  and  began  to  push  the  tip  of  her  nose 
upward.  At  last  she  snapped  out  suddenly: 

"Well,  which  is  it,  friend  or  foe?  What  do  you 
honestly  think  of  my  work?" 

"Pardon  me,  Miss  Walker,  I  am  not  accustomed  to 
speak  rudely  to  a  lady.  If  I  am  honest,  I  don't  know 
where  to  begin." 

"Bah!  Lay  aside  your  Don  Quixote  Southern 
chivalry  this  morning  and  talk  to  me  in  plain  English. 
It  doesn't  matter  whether  I  am  a  woinan  or  a  man.  I 
am  an  idea,  a  divine  mission  this  morning.  I  mean  to 
establish  a  high  school  in  this  village  for  the  Negroes, 


46  The  Leopard's  Spots 

and  to  build  a  Baptist  church  for  them.  I  learn  from 
them  that  they  have  great  faith  in  you.  Many  of  them 
desire  your  approval  and  cooperation.  Will  you  help 
me?" 

"To  be  perfectly  frank,  I  will  not.  You  ask  me  for 
plain  English.  I  will  give  it  to  you.  Your  presence 
in  this  village  as  a  missionary  to  the  heathen  is  an  insult 
to  our  intelligence  and  Christian  manhood.  You  come 
at  this  late  day  a  missionary  among  the  heathen,  the 
heathen  whose  heart  and  brain  created  this  Republic 
with  civil  and  religious  liberty  for  its  foundations,  a 
missionary  among  the  heathen  who  gave  the  world 
Washington,  whose  giant  personality  three  times  saved 
the  cause  of  American  Liberty  from  ruin  when  his  army 
had  melted  away.  You  are  a  missionary  among  the 
children  of  Washington,  Jefferson,  Monroe,  Madison, 
Jackson,  Clay  and  Calhoun !  Madam,  I  have  baptised 
into  the  fellowship  of  the  church  of  Christ  in  this  county 
more  negroes  than  you  ever  saw  in  all  your  life  before 
you  left  Boston. 

"At  the  close  of  the  war  there  were  thousands  of 
Negro  members  of  white  Baptist  churches  in  the  state. 
Your  mission  is  not  to  proclaim  the  gospel  of  Jesus 
Christ.  Your  mission  is  to  teach  crack-brained  theories 
of  social  and  political  equality  to  four  millions  of  ignorant 
Negroes,  some  of  whom  are  but  fifty  years  removed 
from  the  savagery  of  African  jungles.  Your  work  is  to 
separate  and  alienate  the  Negroes  from  their  former 
masters,  who  only  can  be  their  real  friends  and 
guardians.  Your  work  is  to  sow  the  dragon's  teeth 
of  an  impossible  social  order  that  will  bring  forth 
its  harvest  of  blood  for  our  children." 

He  paused  a  moment,  and,  suddenly  facing  her, 
continued:  "I  should  like  to  help  the  cause  you  have  at 
heart,  and  the  most  effective  service  I  could  render  it 


The  Preacher  and  the  Woman  of  Boston    47 

now  would  be  to  box  you  up  in  a  glass  cage,  such  as  are 
used  for  rattlesnakes,  and  ship  you  back  to  Boston." 
"Indeed!  I  suppose  then  it  is  still  a  crime  in  the 
South  to  teach  the  Negro  ? "  She  asked  this  in  little  gasps 
of  fury,  her  eyes  flashing  defiance  and  her  two  rows  of 
white  teeth  uncovering  by  the  rising  of  her  pugnacious 
nose." 

"For  you,  yes.     It  is  always  a  crime  to  teach  a  lie." 

"Thank  you.     Your  frankness  is  all  one  could  wish  ! " 

"Pardon    my    apparent    rudeness.     You    not    only 

invited,  you  demanded  it.     While  about  it,  let  me  make 

a  clean  breast  of  it.     I  do  you  personally  the  honour 

to  acknowledge  that  you  are  honest  and  in  dead  earnest 

and  that  you  mean  well.     You  are  simply  a  fanatic." 

"Allow  me  again  to  thank  you  for  your  candour!" 

"Don't  mention  it,  Madam.     You  will  be  canonised 

in  due  time.     In  the  meantime,  let  us  understand  one 

another.     Our  lives  are   now  very  far   apart,  though 

we  read  the  same  Bible,  worship  the  same  God  and  hold 

the  same  great  faith.     In  the  settlement  of  this  Negro 

question  you  are  an  insolent  interloper.     You're  worse ; 

you  are   a  wilful,  spoiled   child   of  rich  and   powerful 

parents  playing  with  matches  in  a  powder-mill.     I  not 

only  will  not  help  you,  I  would,  if  I  had  the  power,  seize 

you  and  remove  you  to  a  place  of  safety.     But  I  cannot 

oppose   you.     You   are   protected   in   your  play   by  a 

million  bayonets,  and  back  of  these  bayonets  are  banked 

the  fires  of  passion  in  the  North  ready  to  burst  into 

flame  in  a  moment.     The  only  thing  I  can  do  is  to  ignore 

your  existence.     You  understand  my  position." 

"Certainly,  Doctor,"  she  replied,  good-naturedly. 

She  had  recovered  from  the  rush  of  her  anger  now 

and  was  herself  again.     A  curious  smile  played  round 

her  lips  as  she  quietly  added: 

"I  must  really  thank  you  for  your  candour.     You 


48  The  Leopard's  Spots 

have  helped  me  immensely.  I  now  understand  the 
situation  perfectly.  I  shall  go  forward  cheerfully  in  my 
work  and  never  bother  my  brain  again  about  you,  or 
your  people,  or  your  point  of  view.  You  have  aroused 
all  the  fighting  blood  in  me.  I  feel  toned  up  and  ready 
for  a  life  struggle.  I  assure  you  I  shall  cherish  no  ill 
feeling  toward  you.  I  am  only  sorry  to  see  a  man  of 
your  powers  so  blinded  by  prejudice.  I  will  simply 
ignore  you." 

"Then,  Madam,  it  is  quite  clear  we  agree  upon 
establishing  and  maintaining  a  great  mutual 
ignorance.  Let  us  hope,  paradoxical  as  it  may  seem, 
that  it  may  be  for  the  enlightenment  of  future  genera 
tions." 

She  rose  to  go,  smiling  at  his  last  speech. 

"Before  we  part,  perhaps  never  to  meet  again,  let  me 
ask  you  one  question,"  said  the  Preacher,  still  looking 
thoughtfully  at  her. 

"Certainly,  as  many  as  you  like." 

"Why  is  it  that  you  good  people  of  the  North  are 
spending  your  millions  here  now  to  help  only  the 
Negroes,  who  feel  least  of  all  the  sufferings  of  this  war  ? 
The  poor  white  people  of  the  South  are  your  own  flesh 
and  blood.  These  Scotch  Covenanters  are  of  the  same 
Puritan  stock,  these  German,  Huguenot  and  English 
people  are  all  your  kinsmen,  who  stood  at  the  stake 
with  your  fathers  in  the  Old  World.  They  are,  many 
of  them,  homeless,  without  clothes,  sick  and  hungry 
and  broken-hearted.  But  one  in  ten  of  them  ever 
owned  a  slave.  They  had  to  fight  this  war  because 
your  armies  invaded  their  soil.  But  for  their  sorrows, 
sufferings  and  burdens  you  have  no  ear  to  hear  and  no 
heart  to  pity.  This  is  a  strange  thing  to  me." 

"The  white  people  of  the  South  can  take  care  of 
themselves.  If  they  suffer,  it  is  God's  just  punishment 


The  Preacher  and  the  Woman  of  Boston    49 

for  their  sins  in  owning  slaves  and  fighting  against  the 
flag.  Do  I  make  myself  clear?"  she  snapped.  - 

"Perfectly;  I  haven't  another  word  to  say." 

"My  heart  yearns  for  the  poor,  dear  black  people 
who  have  suffered  so  many  years  in  slavery  and  have 
been  denied  the  rights  of  human  beings.  I  am  not  only 
going  to  establish  schools  and  colleges  for  them  here, 
but  I  am  conducting  an  experiment  of  thrilling  interest 
to  me  which  will  prove  that  their  intellectual,  moral 
and  social  capacity  is  equal  to  any  white  man's." 

"Is  it  so?"  asked  the  Preacher. 

"Yes,  I  am  collecting  from  every  section  of  the  South 
the  most  promising  specimens  of  Negro  boys  and 
sending  them  to  our  great  Northern  Universities,  where 
they  will  be  educated  among  men  who  treat  them  as 
equals,  and  I  expect  from  the  boys  reared  in  this  atmos 
phere  men  of  transcendent  genius,  whose  brilliant 
achievements  in  science,  art  and  letters  will  forever 
silence  the  tongues  of  slander  against  their  race.  The 
most  interesting  of  these  students  I  have  at  Harvard 
now  is  young  George  Harris.  His  mother  is  Eliza 
Harris,  the  history  of  whose  escape  over  the  ice  of  the 
Ohio  River  fleeing  from  slavery  thrilled  the  world.  This 
boy  is  a  genius,  and  if  he  lives  he  will  shake  this  nation." 

"  It  may  be,  Miss  Walker.  There  are  more  ways  than 
one  to  shake  a  nation.  And  while  as  a  citizen  and 
public  man  I  ignore "your  work,  privately  and  personally 
I  shall  watch  this  experiment  with  profound  interest." 

"I  know  it  will  succeed.  I  believe  God  made  us  of 
one  blood,"  she  said  with  enthusiasm. 

"Is  it  true,  Madam,  that  you  once  endowed  a  home 
for  homeless  cats  before  you  became  interested  in  the 
black  people  ? "  With  a  twinkle  in  his  eye  the  Preacher 
softly  asked  this  apparently  irrelevant  question. 

"Yes,  sir,   I  did — I  am  proud  of  it.     I  love  cats. 


50  The  Leopard's  Spots 

There  are  more  than  a  thousand  in  the  home  now,  and 
they  are  well  cared  for.  Whose  business  is  it  ? " 

"  I  meant  no  offense  by  the  question.  I  love  cats,  too. 
But  I  wondered  if  you  were  collecting  Negroes  only  now, 
or  whether  you  were  adding  other  specimens  to  your 
menagerie  for  experimental  purposes." 

She  bit  her  lips,  and  in  spite  of  her  efforts  to  restrain 
her  anger,  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes  as  she  turned  toward 
the  Preacher,  whose  face  now  looked  calmly  down  upon 
her  with  ill-concealed  pride. 

"Oh,  the  insolence  of  you  Southern  people  toward 
those  who  dare  to  differ  with  you  about  the  Negro!" 
she  cried  with  rage. 

"I  confess  it  humbly  as  a  Christian,  it  is  true.  My 
scorn  for  these  maudlin  ideas  is  so  deep  that  words  have 
no  power  to  convey  it.  But  come,"  said  the  Preacher, 
in  the  kindliest  tone.  "  Enough  of  this.  I  am  pained  to 
see  tears  in  your  eyes.  Pardon  my  thoughtlessness. 
Let  us  forget  now  for  a  little  while  that  you  are  an  idea, 
and  remember  only  that  you  are  a  charming  Boston 
woman  of  the  household  of  our  own  faith.  Let  me  call 
Mrs.  Durham  and  have  you  know  her  and  discuss  with 
her  the  thousand  and  one  things  dear  to  all  women's 
hearts." 

"No,  I  thank  you!  I  feel  a  little  sore  and  bruised, 
and  social  amenities  can  have  no  meaning  for  those 
whose  souls  are  on  fire  with  such  antagonistic  ideas  as 
yours  and  mine.  If  Mrs.  Durham  can  give  me  any 
sympathy  in  my  work  I'll  be  delighted  to  see  her. 
otherwise  I  must  go." 

The  Preacher  laughed  aloud. 

"Then  let  me  beg  of  you,  never  meet  Mrs.  Durham. 
If  you  do,  the  war  will  break  out  again.  I  don't  wish 
to  figure  in  a  case  of  assault  and  battery.  Mrs.  Durham 
was  the  owner  of  fifty  slaves.  She  represents  the  bluest 


The  Preacher  and  the  Woman  of  Boston    51 

of  the  blue  blood  of  the  slave-holding  aristocracy  of  the 
South.  She  has  never  surrendered  and  she  never  will. 
Wars,  surrenders,  constitutional  amendments  and  such 
little  things  make  no  impression  on  her  mind  whatever. 
If  you  think  I  am  difficult,  you  had  better  not  puzzle 
your  brain  over  her.  I  am  a  mildly  constructive  man 
of  progress.  She  is  a  Conservative." 

"Then  we  will  say  good-by,"  said  Miss  Walker, 
extending  her  small,  plumn  hand  in  friendly  parting. 
"I  accept  your  challenge  which  this  interview  implies. 
I  will  succeed  if  God  lives,"  and  she  set  her  lips  with  a 
snap  that  spoke  volumes. 

"And  I  will  watch  you  from  afar  with  sorrow  and 
fear  and  trembling,"  responded  the  Preacher. 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE  HEART  OF  A  CHILD 

MRS.  GASTON'S  recovery  from  the  brain  fever 
which  followed  her  prostration  was  slow  and 
painful.  For  days  she  would  be  quite  herself 
as  she  would  sit  up  in  bed  and  smile  at  the  wistful  face 
of  the  boy  who  sat  tenderly  gazing  into  her  eyes,  or  with 
swift  feet  was  running  to  do  her  slightest  wish. 

Then  days  of  relapse  would  follow,  when  the  child's 
heart  would  ache  and  ache  with  a  dumb  sense  of  despair 
as  he  listened  to  her  incoherent  talk  and  heard  her 
meaningless  laughter.  When  at  length  he  could  endure 
it  no  longer,  he  would  call  Aunt  Eve,  run  from  the  house 
as  fast  as  his  little  legs  could  carry  him,  and  in  the 
woods  lie  down  in  the  shadows  and  cry  for  hours. 

"I  wonder  if  God  is  dead!"  he  said  one  day  as  he 
lay  and  gazed  at  the  clouds  sweeping  past  the  openings 
in  the  green  foliage  above. 

"I  pray  every  day  and  every  night,  but  she  don't  get 
well.  Why  does  He  leave  her  like  that,  when  she's 
1  so  good?"  and  then  his  voice  choked  into  sobs,  and  he 
buried  his  face  in  the  leaves. 

He  was  suddenly  roused  by  the  voice  of  Nelse,  who 
stood  looking  down  on  his  forlorn  figure  with  tenderness. 

"What  you  doin'  out  in  dese  woods,  honey,  by 
yo'se'f  ?" 

"Nothin',  Nelse." 

"I  knows.     You'se  er  crying  'bout  yo'  Ma." 

The  boy  nodded  without  looking  up. 


The  Heart  of  a  Child  53 

"Doan'  do  dat  way,  honey.  You'se  too  little  ter  cry 
lak  dat.  Yer  Ma's  gittin'  better  ev'ry  day;  de  doctor 
done  tole  me  so." 

"Do  you  think  so,  Nelse?"  There  was  an  eagerness 
and  yearning  in  the  child's  voice  that  would  have 
moved  the  heart  of  a  stone. 

'"Cose  I  does.  She  be  strong  en  well  in  little  while 
when  cole  wedder  comes.  Pros'  '11  soon  be  here.  I  see 
whar  er  ole  rabbit  been  er  eatin'  on  my  turnip  tops. 
Dat's  er  sho'  sign.  I  gwine  make  you  er  rabbit  box 
ter-morrer  ter  ketch  dat  rabbit." 

"Will  you,   Nelse?" 

"Sho's  you  bawn.  Now  des  lemme  pick  you  er 
chune  on  dis  banjer  'fo'  I  goes  ter  my  wuk." 

Of  all  the  music  he  had  ever  heard,  the  boy  thought 
Nelse's  banjo  was  the  sweetest.  He  accompanied  the 
music  in  a  deep  bass  voice  which  he  kept  soft  and 
soothing.  The  boy  sat  entranced.  With  wide-open 
eyes  and  half-parted  lips  he  dreamed  his  mother  was 
well,  and  then  that  he  had  grown  to  be  a  man — a  great 
man,  rich  and  powerful.  Now  he  was  the  Governor  of 
the  state,  living  in  the  Governor's  palace,  and  his 
mother  was  presiding  at  a  banquet  in  his  honour.  He 
was  bending  proudly  over  her  and  whispering  to  her 
that  she  was  the  most  beautiful  mother  in  the  world. 
And  he  could  hear  her  say  with  a  smile, 

"You  dear  boy!" 

Suddenly  the  banjo  stopped,  and  Nelse  railed  with 
mock  severity,  "Now,  look  at  'im  er  cryin'  ergin,  en  me 
er  pickin'  de  eens  er  my  fingers  off  fur  'im!" 

"No,  I  ain't  cryin'.  I  am  just  listenin'  to  the  music. 
Nelse,  you're  the  greatest  banjo  player  in  the  world." 

"Na,  honey,  hit's  de  banjer.  Dat's  de  Jo-bloin'est 
banjer !  En  des  ter  t'ink — er  Yankee  gin  'er  to  me  in 
de  wah.  Dat  wuz  de  fus'  Yankee  I  ebber  seed  hab 


54  The  Leopard's  Spots 

sense  ernuf  ter  own  er  banjer.  I  kinder  hate  ter  fight 
dem  Yankees  atter  dat." 

"But,  Nelse,  if  you  v^ere  fighting  with  our  men  how 
did  you  get  close  to  any  Yankees  ? ' ' 

"Lawd,  child,  we's  allers  slippin'  out  twixt  de  lines 
atter  night,  er  carryin'  on  wid  dem  Yankees.  We  trade 
'em  terbaccer  fur  coffee  en  sugar,  en  play  cyards,  en 
talk  twell  mos'  day  sometime.  I  slip  out  fust  in  er  patch 
er  woods  twix'  de  lines  en  make  my  banjer  talk.  En 
den  yere  dey  come !  De  Yankees  fum  one  way  en  our 
boys  de  yudder.  I  make  out  lak  I  doan'  see  'em  tall,  des 
playin'  ter  myself.  Den  I  make  dat  banjer  moan  en 
cry  en  talk  about  de  folks  way  down  in  Dixie.  De  boys 
creep  up  closer  en  closer  twell  dey  right  at  my  elbow  en 
I  see  'em  cryin',  some  un  'em — den  I  'gin  'er  a  juk !  en 
way  she  go  pluckety  plunck !  en  dey  'gin  ter  dance  and 
laugh  !  Sometimes  dey  cuss  me  lak  dey  mad  en  lam  me 
on  de  back.  When  dey  hit  me  hard  den  I  know  dey 
ready  ter  gimme  all  dey  got." 

"But  how  did  you  get  this  banjo,  Nelse?" 

"Yankee  gin  'er  ter  me  one  night  ter  try  'er,  en  when 
he  hear  me  des  fairly  pull  de  insides  outen  'er  he  'low 
dat  hit  'd  be  er  sin  ter  ebber  sep'rate  us.  Say  he  nebber 
know  what  'uz  in  er  banjer." 

Nelse  rose  to  go. 

"Now,  honey,  doan'  you  cry  no  mo',  en  I  make  you 
dat  rabbit  box  sho',  en  erlong  'bout  Chris'mas  I  gwine 
larn  you  how  ter  shoot." 

"Will  you  let  me  hold  the  gun?"  the  boy  eagerly 
asked. 

"I  des  sho'  you  how  ter  poke  yo'  gun  in  de  cracker 
de  fence  en  whisper  ter  de  trigger.  Den  look  out,  birds 
en  rabbits ! " 

The  boy's  face  was  one  great  smile. 

It  was  late  in  September  before  his  mother  was  strong 


The  Heart  of  a  Child  55 

enough  to  venture  out  of  the  house — six  terrible  months 
from  the  day  s-he  was  stricken.  What  an  age  it  seemed 
to  a  sensitive  boy's  soul.  To  him  the  days  were  weeks, 
the  weeks  months,  the  months  long,  weary  years.  It 
seemed  to  him  he  had  lived  a  lifetime,  died,  and  was 
born  again  the  day  he  saw  her  first  walking  on 
the  soft  grass  that  grew  under  the  big  trees  at  the 
back  of  the  house.  He  was  gently  holding  her  by 
the  hand. 

"Now,  Mamma  dear,  sit  here  on  this  seat — you 
musn't  get  in  the  sun." 

"But,  Charlie,  I  want  to  see  the  flowers  on  the  front 
lawn." 

"No,  no,  Mamma;  the  sun  is  shinin'  awful  on  that 
side  of  the  house ! " 

A  great  fear  caught  the  boy's  heart.  The  lawn  had 
grown  up  a  mass  of  weeds  and  grass  during  the  long, 
hot  summer,  and  he  was  afraid  his  mother  would  cry 
when  she  saw  the  ruin  of  those  flowers  she  loved  so  well. 

How  impossible  for  his  child's  mind  to  foresee  the 
gathering  black  hurricane  of  tragedy  and  ruin  soon  to 
burst  over  that  lawn  ! 

Skilfully  and  firmly  he  kept  her  on  the  seat  in  the 
rear,  where  she  could  not  see  the  lawn.  He  said  every 
thing  he  could  think  of  to  please  her.  She  would  smile 
and  kiss  him  in  her  old  sweet  way  until  his  heart  was 
full  to  bursting. 

"Do  you  remember,  Mamma,  how  many  times  when 
you  were  so  sick  I  used  to  slip  up  close  and  kiss  your 
mouth  and  eyes?" 

"  I  often  dreamed  you  were  kissing  me." 

"I  thought  you  would  know.  I'll  soon  be  a  man. 
I'm  going  to  be  rich  and  build  a  great  house,  and  you  are 
going  to  live  in  it  with  me,  and  I  am  to  take  care  of  you 
as  long  as  you  live." 


56  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"I  expect  you.  will  marry  some  pretty  girl  and 
almost  forget  your  old  Mamma,  who  will  be  getting 
gray." 

"But  I'll  never  love  anybody  like  I  love  you,  Mamma 
dear!" 

His  little  arms  slipped  around  her  neck,  held  her  close 
for  a  moment,  and  then  he  tenderly  kissed  her. 

After  supper  he  sought  Nelse. 

"Nelse,  we  must  work  out  the  flowers  in  the  lawn. 
Mamma  wants  to  see  them.  It  was  all  I  could  do  to 
keep  her  from  going  out  there  to-day." 

"  Lawd,  chile,  hit '11  take  two  niggers  er  week  ter  clean 
out  dat  lawn.  Hit's  gone  fur  dis  year.  Yer  Ma'll  know 
dat,  honey." 

The  next  morning  after  breakfast  the  boy  found 
a  hoe,  and  in  the  piercing  sun  began  manfully  to 
work  at  those  flowers.  He  had  woiked  perhaps 
a  half-hour.  His  face  was  red  with  heat  and  wet 
with  sweat.  He  was  tired  already  and  seemed  to 
make  no  impression  on  the  wilderness  of  weeds  and 
grass. 

Suddenly  he  looked  up  and  saw  his  mother  smiling 
at  him. 

"Come  here,  Charlie !"  she  called. 

He  dropped  his  hoe  and  hurried  to  her  side.  She 
caught  him  in  her  arms  and  kissed  the  sweat  drops  from 
his  eyes  and  mouth. 

"  You  are  the  sweetest  boy  in  the  world." 

What  music  to  his  soul  these  words  to  the  last  day  of 
his  life ! 

"  I  was  afraid  when  you  saw  all  these  weeds  you  would 
cry  about  your  flowers,  Mamma." 

"  It  does  hurt  me,  dear,  to  see  them,  but  it's  worth  all 
their  loss  to  see  you  out  there  in  the  broiling  sun  working 
so  hard  to  please  me.  I've  seen  the  most  beautiful 


The  Heart  of  a  Child  57 

flower  this  morning  that  ever  blossomed  on  my  lawn — • 
and  its  perfume  will  make  sweet  my  whole  life.     I  am 
going  to  be  brave  and  live  for  you  now." 
And  she  kissed  him  fondly  again. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

AN  EXPERIMENT  IN  MATRIMONY 

NELSE  was  informed  by  the  Agent  of  the  Freed- 
man's  Bureau,  when  summoned  before  that 
tribunal,  that  he  must  pay  a  fee  of  one  dollar 
for  a  marriage  license  and  be  married  over  again. 

"What's  dat?  Dis  yer  war  bust  up  me  en  Eve's 
marryin'  ? " 

"Yes,"  said  the  Agent.  "You  must  be  legally 
married." 

Nelse  chuckled  on  a  brilliant  scheme  that  flashed 
through  his  mind. 

"Den  I  see  you  ergin  'bout  dat,"  he  said,  as  he  hastily 
took  his  leave. 

He  made  his  way  homeward,  revolving  his  brilliant 
scheme.  "But  won't  I  fetch  dat  nigger  Eve  down 
er  peg  er  two  !  I  gwine  ter  make  her  t'ink  I  won'  marry 
her  nohow.  I  make  'er  ax  my  pardon  fur  all  dem  little 
disergreements.  She  got  ter  talk  mighty  putty  now  sho' 
'nuf."  And  he  smiled  over  his  coming  triumph. 

It  was  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  when  he  reached 
his  cabin  door  on  the  lot  back  of  Mrs.  Gaston's  home. 
Eve  was  busy  mending  some  clothes  for  their  little  boy, 
now  nearly  five  years  old. 

" Good-evenin',  Miss  Eve!" 

Eve  looked  up  at  him  with  a  sudden  flash  of  her  eye. 

"What  de  matter  wid  you,  nigger?" 

"Nuttin'  'tall.     Des  drapped  in  lak  ter  pass  de  time 

58 


An  Experiment  in  Matrimony  59 

er  day,  en  ax  how's  you  en  yer  son  standin*  dis  hot 
wedder."  Nelse  bowed  and  smiled. 

"What  ail  you,  you  big  black  baboon?" 

"Nuttin'  'tall,  Ma'am;  des  callin'  roun'  ter  see  my 
f rien's."  Still  smiling,  Nelse  walked  in  and  sat  down. 

Eve  put  down  her  sewing,  stood  up  before  him,  her 
arms  akimbo,  and  gazed  at  him  steadily  till  the  whites 
of  her  eyes  began  to  shine  like  two  moons. 

"You  wants  me  ter  whale  you  ober  de  head  wid  dat 
poker?" 

"Not  dis  evenin',  Ma'am." 

"Den  what  ail  you?" 

"  De  Euro  des  inform  me  dat  es  I'se  er  han'some  young 
man  en  you'se  er  gittin'  kinder  ole  en  fat,  dat  we  ain't 
married  nohow.  En  dey  gimme  er  paper  fur  er  dollar 
dat  allow  me  ter  marry  de  young  lady  er  my  choice. 
Dat  sho'  is  er  great  Euro ! " 

"We  ain't  married?" 

"Nob-urn." 

"After  we  stan'  up  dar  befo'  Marse  John  Durham  en 
say  des  what  all  dem  white  folks  say?" 

"Nob-urn." 

Eve  slowly  took  her  seat  and  gazed  down  the  road 
thoughtfully. 

"  I  t'ink  I  drap  eroun'  ter  see  you  en  gin  you  er  chance 
wid  de  odder  gals  'fo'  I  steps  off,"  explained  Nelse,  with 
a  grin. 

No  answer. 

"You  'member  dat  night  I  say  sumfm'  'bout  er  gal  I 
know  once,  en  you  riz  en  grab  er  poun'  er  wool  outen  my 
head  'fo'  I  kin  move?" 

No  answer  yet. 

"Min'  dat  time  you  bust  de  biscuit  bode  ober  my 
head,  en  lam  me  wid  de  fire-shovel,  en  hit  me  in  de  burr 
er  de  year  wid  er  flatiron  es  I  wuz  makin'  fur  de  do'  ?" 


60  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"Yas,  I  min's  dat  sho'!"  said  Eve  with  evident 
satisfaction. 

"Doan'  you  wish  you  nebber  done  dat?" 

"You  black  debbil!" 

"Dat's  hit!  I'se  er  bad  nigger,  Ma'am — bad  nigger 
'fo'  de  war.  En  I'se  gittin'  wuss  en  wuss,"  Nelse 
chuckled. 

She  looked  at  him  with  gathering  rage  and  contempt. 

"En  den  fudder  mo',  Ma'am,  I  doan'  lak  de  way  you 
talk  ter  me  sometimes.  Yo'  voice  des  kinder  takes  de 
skin  off  same's  er  file.  I  laks  ter  hear  er  'oman's  voice 
lak  my  Missy's,  des  es  sof '  es  wool.  Sometime  one  word 
from  her  keep  me  warm  all  winter.  De  way  you  talk 
sometimes  make  me  cole  in  de  summer  time." 

Nelse  rose  while  Eve  sat  motionless. 

"I  des  call,  Ma'am,  ter  drap  er  little  intment  inter  dem 
years  er  yourn  dat '11  percerlate  froo  you  min',  en  when 
I  calls  ergin  I  hopes  ter  be  welcome  wid  smiles." 

Nelse  bowed  himself  out  the  door  in  grandiloquent 
style. 

All  the  afternoon  he  was  laughing  to  himself  over 
his  triumph,  and  imagining  the  welcome  when  he 
returned  that  evening  with  his  marriage  license  and  the 
officer  to  perform  the  ceremony.  At  supper  in  the 
kitchen  he  was  polite  and  formal  in  his  manners  to  Eve. 
She  eyed  him  in  a  contemptuous  sort  of  way  and  never 
spoke  unless  it  was  absolutely  necessary. 

It  was  about  half-past  eight  when  Nelse  arrived  at 
home  with  the  license  duly  issued  and  the  officer  of  the 
Bureau  ready  to  perform  the  ceremony. 

"Des  wait  er  minute  here  at  de  corner,  sah,  'twell  I 
kinder  breaks  de  news  to  'em,"  said  Nelse  to  the  officer. 
He  approached  the  cabin  door  and  knocked. 

It  was  shut  and  fastened.     He  got  no  response. 

He  knocked  loudly  again. 


An  Experiment  in  Matrimony  61 

Eve  thrust  her  head  out  the  window. 

"Who's  dat?" 

"Hit's  me,  Ma'am,  Mister  Nelson  Gaston.  I'se  call 
ter  see  you." 

"Den  you  hump  yo'se'f  en  git  away  from  dat  do', 
you  rascal." 

"De  Lawd,  honey,  I'se  des  been  er  foolin'  you  ter-day. 
I'se  got  dem  license  en  de  Euro  man  right  out  dar  now 
ready  ter  marry  us.  You  know  yo'  ole  man  nebber 
gwine  back  on  you — I  des  been  er  foolin'." 

"Den  you  been  er  foolin'  wid  de  wrong  nigger." 

"Lawd,  honey,  doan'  keep  de  bridegroom  er  waitin'." 

"Git  erway  from  dat  do' !" 

"G'long,  chile,  en  quit  yer  projeckin'."  Nelse  was 
using  his  softest  and  most  persuasive  tones  now. 

"G'way  from  dat  do'!" 

"Come  on,  Eve;  de  man  waitin'  out  dar  fur  us!" 

"Git  away,  I  tells  you,  er  I  scald  you  wid  er  kittle 
er  hot  water." 

Nelse  drew  back  slightly  from  the  door. 

"But,  honey,  whar  yo'  ole  man  gwine  ter  sleep?" 

"Dey's  straw  in  de  barn,  en  pine  shatters  in  de  dog 
house!"  she  shouted,  slamming  the  window. 

"Eve,   honey! " 

"Doan'  you  come  honeyin'  me;  I'se  er  spec'able 
'oman,  I  is.  Ef  you  wants  ter  marry  me  you  got  ter 
come  cotin'  me  in  de  daytime  fust,  en  bring  me  candy, 
en  ribbins,  en  flowers  and  sich,  en  you  got  ter  talk 
purtier'n  you  ebber  talk  in  all  yo'  born  days.  Lots  er 
likely  lookin'  niggers  come  settin'  up  ter  me  while  you 
gone  in  dat  wah,  en  I  keep  studin'  'bout  you,  you  big 
black  rascal.  Now  you  got  ter  hump  yo'se'f  ef  you 
eber  see  de  inside  er  dis  cabin  ergin." 

Crestfallen,  Nelse  returned  to  the  officer. 

"Wall,  sah,  dey's  er  kinder  hitch  in  de  perceedin's." 


62  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"She  'low  I  got  ter  come  cotin'  her  fust.  En  I  'spec' 
I  is." 

The  officer  laughed  and  returned  to  his  home.  She 
made  Nelse  sleep  in  the  barn  for  three  weeks,  court  her 
an  hour  every  day,  and  bring  her  five  cents'  worth  of  red 
stick  candy  and  a  bouquet  of  flowers  as  a  peace  offering 
at  every  visit.  Finally  she  made  him  write  her  a  note 
and  ask  her  to  take  a  ride  with  him.  Nelse  got  Charlie 
to  write  it  for  him,  and  made  his  own  boy  carry  it  to 
his  mother.  After  three  weeks  of  humility  and  attention 
to  her  wishes  she  gave  her  consent  and  they  were  duly 
married  again. 


CHAPTER  IX 
•    A  MASTER  OF   MEN 

THE  first  Monday  in  October  was  court  day  in 
Hambright,  and  from  every  nook  and  corner 
of  Campbell  County  the  people  nocked  to  town. 
The  court-house  had  not  yet  been  transformed  into  the 
farce-tragedy  hall  where  jailbirds  and  drunken  loafers 
were  soon  to  sit  on  judge's  bench  and  in  attorney's  chair 
instead  of  standing  in  the  prisoner's  dock.  The  merciful 
stay  laws  enacted  by  the  Legislature  had  silenced  the 
cry  of  the  auctioneer  until  the  people  might  have  a 
moment  to  gird  themselves  for  a  new  life  struggle. 

But  the  black  cloud  was  already  seen  on  the  horizon. 
The  people  were  restless  and  discouraged  by  the  wild 
rumours  set  afloat  by  the  Freedman's  Bureau,  of  coming 
confiscation,  revolution  and  revenge.  A  greater  crowd 
than  usual  had  come  to  town  on  the  first  day.  The 
streets  were  black  with  Negroes. 

A  shout  was  heard  from  the  crowd  in  the  square  as 
the  stalwart  figure  of  General  Daniel  Worth,  the  brigade 
commander  of  Colonel  Gaston's  regiment,  was  seen 
shaking  hands  with  the  men  of  his  old  army. 

The  General  was  a  man  to  command  instant  attention 
in  any  crowd.  An  expert  in  anthropology  would  have 
selected  his  face  from  among  a  thousand  as  the  typical 
man  of  the  Caucasian  race.  He  was  above  the  average 
heigh  i  a  strong,  muscular  and  well-rounded  body, 
crowned  by  a  heavy  shock  of  what  had  once  been  raven* 


64  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"black  hair,  now  iron  gray.  His  face  was  ruddy  with  the 
.glow  of  perfect  health,  and  his  full  round  lips  and  the 
twinkle  of  his  eye  showed  him  to  be  a  lover  of  the 
good  things  of  life.  He  wore  a  heavy  mustache,  which 
seemed  a  fitting  ballast  for  the  lower  part  of  his  face 
against  the  heavy  projecting  straight  eyebrows  and 
bushy  hair. 

As  he  shook  hands  with  his  old  soldiers  his  face  was 
wreathed  in  smiles,  his  eyes  flashed  with  something  like 
tears,  and  he  had  a  pleasant  word  for  all. 

Tom  Camp  was  one  of  the  first  to  spy  the  General  and 
hobble  to  him  as  fast  as  his  peg-leg  would  carry  him. 

"Howdy,  General,  howdy  do!  Lordy,  it's  good  for 
sore  eyes  ter  see  ye  !"  Tom  held  fast  to  his  hand  and, 
turning  to  the  crowd,  said: 

"  Boys,  here's  the  best  General  that  ever  led  a  brigade, 
and  there  wasn't  a  man  in  it  that  wouldn't  'a'  died  for 
him.  Now  three  times  three  cheers!"  And  they  gave 
them  with  a  will. 

"Ah,  Tom,  you're  still  at  your  old  tricks,"  said  the 
General.  "What  are  you  after  now?" 

"A  speech,  General!" 

"A  speech  !     A  speech  !"4the  crowd  echoed. 

The  General  slapped  Tom  on  the  back  and  said; 

"What  sort  of  a  job  is  this  you're  putting  up  on  me  ? 
I'm  no  orator.  But  I'll  just  say  to  you,  boys,  that  this 
old  peg-leg  here  was  the  finest  soldier  that  I  ever  saw 
carry  a  musket,  and  the  men  who  stood  beside  him 
were  the  most  patient,  the  most  obedient,  the  bravest 
men  that  ever  charged  a  foe  and  crowned  their  General 
with  glory,  while  he  safely  stood  in  the  rear." 

Again  a  cheer  broke  forth.  The  General  was  hurrying 
toward  the  court-house,  when  he  was  suddenly  sur 
rounded  by  a  crowd  of  Negroes.  In  the  front  ranks 
were  a  hundred  of  his  old  slaves  who  had  worked  on  his 


A  Master  of  Men  65 

Campbell  County  plantation.  They  seized  his  hands  and 
laughed  and  cried  and  pleaded  for  recognition  like  a 
crowd  of  children.  Most  of  them  he  knew.  Some  of 
their  faces  he  had  forgotten. 

"Hi  dar,  Marse  Dan'l,  you  knows  me!  Lordy,  I'se 
your  boy  Joe  dat  used  ter  ketch  yo'  hoss  down  at  the 
plantation ! " 

"Of  course,  Joe,  of  course." 

"I  know  Marse  Dan'l  ain't  forget  old  Uncle  Rube," 
said  an  aged  Negro,  pushing  his  way  to  the  front. 

"That  I  haven't,  Reuben;  and  how's  Aunt  Julia 
Ann?" 

"  She  des  tollable,  Marse  Dan'l.  We'se  bof  un  us  had 
de  plumbago.  How  is  you  all  sence  de  wah?" 

"Oh,  first. rate,  Reuben.  We  manage  somehow  to 
get  enough  to  eat,  and  if  we  do  that  nowadays  we 
can't  complain." 

"Dats  de  God's  truf,  Marster,  sho' !  En  now,  Marse 
Dan'l,  we  all  wants  you  ter  make  us  er  speech  en  'splain 
erbout  dis  freedom  ter  us.  Dey's  so  many  dese  yere 
Buroers  en  Leaguers  'round  here  tellin'  us  niggers 
what's  er  coming,  twell  we  des  doan'  know  nuttin' 
fur  sho'." 

"Yassir,  dat's  hit!  You  tell  us  er  speech,  Marse 
Dan'l!" 

The  white  men  crowded  up  nearer  and  joined  in  the 
cry.  There  was  no  escape.  In  a  few  moments  the 
court-house  was  filled  with  a  crowd. 

When  he  arose  a  cheer  shook  the  building,  and  strange 
as  it  may  seem  to-day,  it  came  with  almost  equal 
enthusiasm  from  white  and  black. 

"  I  thank  you,  my  friends,"  said  the  General,  "for  this 
evidence  of  your  confidence.  I  was  a  Whig  in  politics. 
I  reckon  I  hated  a  Democrat  as  God  hates  sin.  I  was  a 
Union  man  and  fought  Secession.  My  opponents  won. 


66  The  Leopard's  Spots 

My  State  asked  me  to  defend  her  soil.  As  an  obedient 
son  I  gave  my  life  in  loyal  service. 

"I  need  not  tell  you  as  a  Union  man  that  I  am  glad 
this  war  is  over.  I  have  always  felt  as  a  business 
man,  a  cotton  manufacturer  as  well  as  farmer,  in  touch 
with  the  free  labour  of  the  North  as  well  as  the  slave 
labour  of  the  South,  that  free  labour  was  the  most 
economical  and  efficient.  I  believe  that,  terrible  as  the 
loss  of  four  billions  of  dollars  in  slaves  will  be  to  the 
South,  if  the  South  is  only  let  alone  by  the  politicians 
and  allowed  to  develop  her  resources  she  will  become 
what  God  meant  her  to  be,  the  garden  of  the  world.  I 
say  it  calmly  and  deliberately,  I  thank  God  that  slavery 
is  a  thing  of  the  past." 

A  whirlwind  of  applause  arose  from  the  Negroes. 
Uncle  Reuben's  voice  could  be  heard  above  the  din. 

"Hear  dat,  you  niggers!  Dat's  my  ole  Marster 
talkin'  now ! " 

"Let  me  say  to  the  Negroes  here  to-day,  this  war  was 
not  fought  for  your  freedom  by  the  North,  and  yet  in 
its  terrific  struggle  God  saw  fit  to  give  you  freedom. 
Life,  liberty  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness  are  now  yours 
and  the  birthright  of  your  children. 

"We  need  your  labour.  Be  honest,  humble,  patient, 
industrious,  and  every  white  man  in  the  South  will  be 
your  friend.  What  you  need  now  is  to  go  to  work  with 
all  your  might,  build  a  roof  over  your  head,  get  a  few 
acres  of  land  under  your  feet  that  is  your  own,  put 
decent  clothes  on  your  back  and  some  money  in  the 
bank,  and  you  will  become  indispensable  to  the  people 
of  the  South.  They  will  be  your  best  friends  and 
give,  you  every  right  and  privilege  you  are  prepared 
to  receive. 

"The  man  who  tells  you  that  your  old  Master's  land 
will  be  divided  among  you  is  a  criminal,  or  a  fool,  or 


A  Master  of  Men  67 

both.  If  you  ever  own  land,  you  will  earn  it  in  the 
sweat  of  your  brow,  like  I  got  mine." 

"Hear  dat  now,  niggers!"  cried  old  Reuben. 

"The  man  who  tells  you  that  you  are  going  to  be 
given  the  ballot  indiscriminately  with  which  you  can 
rule  your  old  masters  is  a  criminal,  or  a  fool,  or  both.  It 
is  insanity  to  talk  about  the  enfranchisement  of  a  million 
slaves  who  cannot  read  their  ballots.  Mr.  Lincoln, 
who  set  you  free,  was  opposed  to  any  such  measure. 

"Let  me  read  an  extract  from  a  letter  Mr.  Lincoln 
wrote  me  just  before  the  war." 

The  General  drew  from  his  pocket  a  letter  in  the  hand 
writing  of  the  President  and  read: 

"My  Dear  Worth:  You  must  hold  the  Union  men 
of  the  South  together  at  all  hazards.  The  one  passion 
of  my  soul  is  to  save  the  Union.  In  answer  to  the 
question  you  ask  me  about  the  equality  of  the  races,  I 
enclose  you  a  newspaper  clipping  reporting  my  reply  to 
Judge  Douglas  at  Charleston,  September  18,  1858.  I 
could  not  express  myself  more  plainly.  Have  this 
extract  published  in  every  paper  in  the  South  you  can 
get  to  print  it." 

The  General  paused  and,  turning  toward  the  Negroes, 
said: 

"Now  listen  carefully  to  every  word.  Says  Mr. 
Lincoln : 

"/  am  not  nor  ever  have  been  in  favour  of  bringing 
about  in  any  way  the  social  and  political  equality  of  the 
white  and  black  races  !  (here  is  marked  applause  from  a 
Northern  audience.)  /  am  not  nor  ever  have  been  in 
favour  of  making  voters  or  jurors  of  Negroes,  nor  of 
qualifying  them  to  hold  office,  nor  to  intermarry  with 
white  people.  I  will  say  in  addition  to  this  that  there 


68 

is  a  physical  difference  between  the  white  and  black  races 
which  I  believe  will  forever  forbid  the  two  races  living 
together  on  terms  of  social  and  political  equality:  and 
inasmuch  as  they  cannot  so  live,  while  they  do  remain 
together  there  must  be  the  position  of  the  inferior  and 
superior,  and  I  am,  as  much  as  any  other  man,  in  favour 
of  having  the  superior  position  assigned  to  the  white  race. '  , 

"This  was  Lincoln's  position  and  is  the  position  of  ( 
nine-tenths  of  the  voters  of  his  party.     It  is  insanity  to 
believe  that  the  Anglo-Saxon  race  at  the  North  can  ever 
be  so  blinded  by  passion  that  they  can  assume  any 
other  position. 

"Slavery  is  dead  for  all  time.  It  would  have  been 
destroyed  whatever  the  end  of  the  war.  I  know  some 
of  the  secrets  of  the  diplomatic  history  of  the  Con 
federacy.  General  Lee  asked  the  Government  at  Rich 
mond  to  enlist  200,000  Negroes  to  defend  the  South, 
which  he  declared  was  their  country  as  well  as  ours, 
and  grant  them  freedom  on  enlistment.  General  Lee's 
request  was  ultimately  accepted  as  the  policy  of  the 
Confederacy,  though  too  late  to  save  its  waning  fortunes. 
Not  only  this,  but  the  Confederate  Government  sent  a 
special  ambassador  to  England  and  France  and  offered 
them  the  pledge  of  the  South  to  emancipate  every  slave 
in  return  for  the  recognition  of  the  independence  of  the 
Confederacy.  But  when  the  ambassador  arrived  in 
Europe  the  lines  of  our  army  had  been  so  broken  that 
governments  were  afraid  to  interfere. 

"The  man  who  tells  you  that  your  old  masters  are 
your  enemies  and  may  try  to  reinslave  you  is  a  -wilful 
and  malicious  liar." 

"Hear  dat,  folks!"  yelled  old  Reuben,  as  he  waved 
his  arms  grandly  toward  the  crowd. 

"To  the  white  people  here  to-day  I  say  be  of  good 


A  Master  of  Men  69 

cheer.  Let  politics  alone  for  awhile  and  build  up  your 
ruined  homes.  You  have  boundless  wealth  in  your  soil. 
God  will  not  forget  to  send  the  rain  and  the  dew  and  the 
sun.  You  showed  yourselves  on  a  hundred  fields  ready 
to  die  for  your  country.  Now  I  ask  you  to  do  something 
braver  and  harder.  Live  for  her  when  it  is  hard  to 
live.  Let  cowards  run,  but  let  the  brave  stand  shoulder 
to  shoulder  and  build  up  the  waste  places  till  our 
country  is  once  more  clothed  in  wealth  and  beauty." 

The  General  in  closing  bowed  to  a  round  of  applause. 
His  soldiers  were  delighted  with  his  speech  and  his 
old  slaves  revelled  in  it  with  personal  pride.  But  the 
rank  and  file  of  the  Negroes  were  puzzled.  He  did  not 
preach  the  kind  of  doctrine  they  wished  to  hear.  They 
had  hoped  freedom  meant  eternal  rest,  not  work.  They 
had  dreamed  of  a  life  of  ease,  with  government  rations 
three  times  a  day  and  old  army  clothes  to  last  till  they 
put  on  the  white  robes  above  and  struck  their  golden 
harps  in  paradise.  This  message  the  General  brought 
was  painful  to  their  newly  awakened  imaginations. 

As  the  General  passed  through  the  crowd  he  met  the 
Ex-Provisional  Governor,  Amos  Hogg,  busy  with  the 
organising  work  of  his  Leagues. 

"Glad  to  see  you,  General,"  said  Hogg,  extending  his 
hand  with  a  smile. 

"Well,  how  are  you,  Amos,  since  Macon  pulled  your 
wool?" 

"  Never  felt  better  in  my  life,  General.  I  want  a  few 
minutes'  talk  with  you." 

"All  right,  what  is  it?" 

"General,  you're  a  progressive  man.  Come,  you're 
flirting  with  the  enemy.  The  truly  loyal  men  must  get 
together  to  rescue  the  state  from  the  rebels  who  have  it 
again  under  their  heel." 

"So  Macon's  a  rebel  because  he  licked  you?" 


7o  The  Leopard's  Spots 

'"You  know  the  rebel  crowd  are  running  this  state," 
said  Hogg. 

"Why,  Hogg,  you  were  the  biggest  fool  Secessionist  I 
ever  saw,  and  Macon  and  I  were  staunch  Union  men. 
We  had  to  fight  you  tooth  and  nail.  You  talk  about 
the  truly  loyal ! " 

"Yes,  but,  General,  I've  repented.  I've  got  my 
face  turned  toward  the  light." 

"Yes,  I  see — the  light  that  shines  in  the  Governor's 
Mansion." 

"I  don't  deny  it.  'Great  men  choose  greater  sins, 
ambition's  mine.'  Come  into  this  Union  movement 
with  me,  Worth,  and  I'll  make  you  the  next  Governor." 

"I'll  see  you  in  hell  first.  No,  Amos,  we  don't  belong 
to  the  same  breed.  You  were  a  Secessionist  as  long  as 
it  paid.  When  the  people  you  had  misled  were  being 
overwhelmed  with  ruin,  and  it  no  longer  paid,  you 
deserted  and  became  'loyal'  to  get  an  office.  Now 
you're  organising  the  Negroes,  deserters  and  criminals 
into  your  secret  oath-bound  societies.  Union  men  when 
the  war  came  fought  on  one  side  or  the  other  because 
a  Union  man  was  a  man,  not  a  coward.  If  he  felt  his 
state  claimed  his  first  love,  he  fought  for  his  native 
soil.  The  gang  of  plugs  you  are  getting  together  now 
as  'truly  loyal'  are  simply  cowards,  deserters  and 
common  criminals  who  claim  they  were  persecuted  as 
Union  men.  It's  a  weak  lie." 

"We'll  win,"  urged  Hogg. 

"Never !"  the  General  snorted,  and  angrily  turned  on 
his  heel.  Before  leaving,  he  wheeled  suddenly,  faced 
Hogg  and  said: 

"Go  on  with  your  fool  societies.  You  are  sowing  the 
wind.  There'll  be  a  lively  harvest.  I  am  organising, 
too.  I'm  organising  a  cotton  mill,  rebuilding  our 
burned  factory,  borrowing  money  from  the  Yankees 


A  Master  of  Men  71 

who  licked  us  to  buy  machinery  and  give  employment 
to  thousands  of  our  poor  people.  That's  the  way  to 
save  the  state.  We've  got  water-power  enough  to 
turn  the  wheels  of  the  world." 

"You'll    need    our    protection    in    the    fight    that's 
coming,"  replied  Hogg,  with  a  straight  look  that  meant; 
much. 

The  General  was  silent  a  moment.  Then  he  shook 
his  fist  in  Hogg's  face  and  slowly  said: 

"Let  me  tell  you  something.  When  I  need  protec 
tion  I'll  go  to  headquarters.  I've  got  Yankee  money 
in  my  mills  and  I  can  get  more  if  I  need  it.  You  lay 
your  dirty  claws  on  them  and  I'll  break  your  neck." 


CHAPTER  X 
THE  MAN  OR  BRUTE  IN  EMBRYO 

TWO  months  later  General  Worth,  while  busy 
rebuilding  his  mills  at  Independence,  had 
served  on  him  a  summons  to  appear  before  the 
Agent  of  the  Freedman's  Bureau  at  Hambright  and 
answer  the  charge  of  using  "abusive  language"  to  a 
freedman. 

The  particular  freedman  who  desired  to  have  his 
feelings  soothed  by  law  was  a  lazy  young  negpo  about 
sixteen  years  old  whom  the  General  had  ordered  whipped 
and  sent  from  the  stables  into  the  fields  on  one  occasion 
during  the  war  while  on  a  visit  to  his  farm.  Evidently 
the  boy  had  a  long  memory. 

"Now,  don't  that  beat  the  devil!"  exclaimed  the 
General. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  his  foreman. 

"I've  got  to  leave  my  work,  ride  on  an  old  freight 
train  thirty  miles,  pull  through  twenty  more  miles  of  red 
mud  in  a  buggy  to  get  to  Hambright,  and  lose  four  days, 
to  answer  such  a  charge  as  that  before  some  iittle  wizen- 
eyed  skunk  of  a  Bureau  Agent.  My  God,  it's  enough  to 
make  a  Union  man  remember  Secession  with  regrets !" 
.  "My  stars,  General,  we  can't  get  along  without  you 
now  when  we  are  getting  this  machinery  in  place. 
Send  a  lawyer,"  growled  the  foreman. 

"Can't  do  it,  John — I'm  charged  with  a  crime." 

"Well,  I'll  swear!" 

"Do  the  best  you  can;  I'll  be  back  in  four  days,  if 

72 


The  Man  or  Brute  in  Embryo  73 

I  don't  kill  a  nigger,"  said  the  General,  with  a  smile. 
"I've  got  a  settlement  to  make  with  the  farmhands, 
anyhow." 

There  was  no  help  for  it.  When  the  court  convened, 
and  the  young  Negro  saw  the  face  of  his  old  master  red 
with  wrath,  his  heart  failed  him.  He  fled  the  town  and 
there  was  no  accusing  witness. 

The  General  gazed  at  the  Agent  with  cold  contempt 
and  never  opened  his  mouth  in  answer  to  expressions 
of  regret  at  the  fiasco. 

A  few  moments  later  he  rode  up  to  the  gate  of  his 
farmhouse  on  the  river  hills  about  a  mile  out  of  town. 
A  strapping  young  fellow  of  fifteen  hastened  to  open 
the  gate. 

"Well,  Allan,  my  boy,  how  are  you?" 

"First  rate,  General.  We're  glad  to  see  you.  But 
we  didn't  make  a  half  crop,  sir;  the  niggers  were  always 
in  town  loafing  around  that  Freedman's  Bureau,  holding 
meetings  all  night,  and  going  to  sleep  in  the  fields." 

"Well,  show  me  the  books,"  said  the  General  as  they 
entered  the  house. 

The  General  examined  the  accounts  with  care  and 
then  looked  at  young  Allan  McLeod  for  a  moment  as 
though  he  had  made  a  discovery. 

"Young  man,  you've  done  this  work  well." 

"I  tried  to,  sir.  If  the  niggers  disputed  anything,  I 
fixed  that  by  making  the  store-keepers  charge  each  it*m 
in  two  books,  one  on  your  account  and  one  on  an 
account  kept  separate  for  every  nigger." 

"Good  enough.  They'll  get  up  early  to  get  ahead  of 
you." 

"I'm  afraid  they  are  going  to  make  trouble  at  the 
Bureau,  sir.  That  Agent's  been  here  holding  Union 
League  meetings  two  or  three  nights  every  week,  and 
he's  got  every  nigger  under  his  thumb." 


74  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"The  dirty  whelp !"  growled  the  General. 

"If  you  can  see  me  out  of  the  trouble,  General,  I'd 
like  to  jump  on  him  and  beat  the  life  out  of  him  next 
time  he  comes  out  here." 

The  General  frowned. 

"Don't  you  touch  him — any  more  than  you  would 
a  polecat.  I've  trouble  enough  just  now." 

"I  could  knock  the  mud  out  of  him  in  two  minutes. 
i£  you  say  the  word,"  said  Allan,  eagerly. 

'Yes,  I've  no  doubt  of  it."  The  General  looked  at 
him  thoughtfully. 

He  was  a  well-knit,  powerful  youth  just  turned  his 
fifteenth  birthday.  He  had  red  hair,  a  freckled  face 
and  florid  complexion.  His  features  were  regular  and 
pleasing,  and  his  stalwart  muscular  figure  gave  him  a 
handsome  look  that  impressed  one  with  indomitable 
physical  energy.  His  lips  were  full  and  sensuous,  his 
eyebrows  straight,  and  his  high  forehead  spoke  of  brain 
power  as  well  as  horse-power. 

He  had  a  habit  of  licking  his  lips  and  running  his 
tongue  around  inside  of  his  cheeks  when  he  saw  anything 
or  heard  anytliing  that  pleased  him  that  was  far  from 
intellectual  in  its  suggestiveness.  When  he  did  this 
one  could  not  help  feeling  that  he  was  looking  at  a 
young,  well-fed  tiger.  There  was  no  doubt  about  his 
being  alive  and  that  he  enjoyed  it.  His  boisterous 
voice  and  ready  laughter  emphasised  this  impression. 

"Allan,  my  boy,"  said  the  General,  when  he  had 
examined  his  accounts,  "if  you  do  everything  in  lite 
as  well  as  you  did  these  books  you'll  make  a  success." 

"I'm  going  to  (io  my  best  to  succeed,  General.  I'll 
not.  be  a  poor  white  man.  I'll  promise  you  that." 

"Do  you  go  to  church  anywhere?" 

"No,  sir.  Maw's  not  a  member  of  any  church,  and 
it's  so  far  to  town  I  don't  go." 


The  Man  or  Brute  in  Embryo          75 

"  Well,  you  must  go.  You  must  go  to  the  Sunday- 
school,  too,  and  get  acquainted  with  all  the  young 
folks.  I'll  speak  to  Mrs.  Durham  and  get  her  to  look 
after  you." 

"All  right,  sir;  I'll  start  next  Sunday."  Allan  was 
feeling  just  then  in  a  good  humour  with  himself  and  all 
the  world.  The  compliment  of  his  employer  had  so 
elated  him  he  felt  fully  prepared  to  enter  the  ministry 
if  the  General  had  only  suggested  it. 

The  following  day  was  appointed  for  a  settlement  of 
the  annual  contract  with  the  Negroes.  The  Agent  of 
the  Freedman's  Bureau  was  the  judge  before  whom  the 
General,  his  overseer  and  clerk  of  account  and  all 
the  Negroes  assembled. 

If  the  devil  himself  had  devised  an  instrument  for 
creating  race  antagonism  and  strife  he  could  not  have 
improved  on  this  Bureau  in  its  actual  workings.  Had 
clean-handed,  competent  agents  been  possible  it  might 
have  accomplished  good.  These  agents  were  as  a  rule 
the  riff -rail  and  trash  of  the  North.  It  was  the  supreme 
opportunity  of  army  cooks,  teamsters,  fakirs  and  broken- 
down  preachers  who  had  turned  insurance  agents. 
They  were  lifted  from  penury  to  affluence  and  power. 
The  possibilities  for  corruption  and  downright  theft 
were  practically  limitless. 

The  Agent  at  Hambright  had  been  a  preacher  in 
Michigan  who  lost  his  church  because  of  unsavoury 
rumours  about  his  character.  He  had  eked  out  a  living 
as  a  book  agent  and  then  insurance  agent.  He  was  a 
man  of  some  education  and  had  a  glib  tongue,  which 
the  Negroes  readily  mistook  for  inspired  eloquence. 
He  assumed  great  dignity  and  an  extraordinary  judicial 
tone  of  voice  when  adjusting  accounts. 

General  Worth  submitted  his  accounts  and  they 
showed  that  all  but  six  of  the  fifty  Negroes  employed 


76  The  Leopard's  Spots 

had  a  little  overdrawn  their  wages  in  provisions  and 
clothing. 

"I  think  there  is  a  mistake,  General,  in  these 
accounts,"  said  the  Reverend  Ezra  Perkins,  the 
Agent. 

"What?"  thundered  the  General. 

"A  mistake  in  your  view  of  the  contract,"  answered 
Ezra,  in  his  oiliest  tone. 

The  Negroes  began  to  grin  and  nudge  one  another, 
amid  exclamations  of  "Dar,  now!"  "Hear  dat!" 

"What  do  you  mean?  The  contracts  are  plain. 
There  can  be  but  one  interpretation.  I  agreed  to 
furnish  the  men  their  supplies  in  advance  and  wait  until 
the  end  of  the  year  for  adjustment  after  the  crops  were 
gathered.  As  it  is,  I  will  lose  more  than  five  hundred 
dollars  on  the  farm."  The  General  paused  and  looked 
at  the  Agent  with  rising  wrath. 

"It's  useless  to  talk.  I  decide  that  under  this 
contract  you  are  to  furnish  supplies  yourself  and  pay 
your  people  their  monthly  wages  besides.  I  have 
figured  it  out  that  you  owe  them  a  little  more  than 
fifteen  hundred  dollars." 

"Fifteen  hundred  dollars!    You  thief " 

"Softly I  Softly!  I'll  commit  you  for  contempt 
of  court!" 

The  General  turned  on  his  heel  without  a  word,  sprang 
on  his  horse,  and  in  a  few  minutes  alighted  at  the  hotel. 
He  encountered  the  Assistant  Agent  of  the  Bureau  on 
the  steps. 

"Did  you  wish  to  see  me,  General?"  he  asked. 

"No,  I'm  looking  for  a  man — a  Union  soldierr 
not  a  turkey  buzzard."  He  dashed  up  to  the 
clerk's  desk. 

"Is  Major  Grant  in  his  room?" 

"Yes,  sir." 


The  Man  or  Brute  in  Embryo  77 

"Tell  him  I  want  to  see  him." 

"What  can  I  do  for  you,  General  Worth?"  asked  the 
Major  as  he  hastened  to  meet  him. 

"Major  Grant,  I  understand  you  are  a  lawyer.  You 
are  a  man  of  principle,  or  you  wouldn't  have  fought. 
When  I  meet  a  man  that  fought  us  I  know  I  am  talking 
to  a  man,  not  a  skunk.  This  greasy,  sanctified  Bureau 
Agent  has  decided  that  I  owe  my  hands  fifteen  hundred 
dollars.  He  knows  it's  a  lie.  But  his  power  is  absolute. 
I  have  no  appeal  to  a  court.  He  has  all  the  Negroes 
under  his  thumb,  and  he  is  simply  arranging  to  steal  this 
money.  I  want  to  pay  you  a  hundred  dollars  as  a 
retainer  and  have  you  settle  with  the  Lord's  anointed, 
the  Reverend  Ezra  Perkins,  for  me." 

"With  pleasure,  General.  And  it  shall  not  cost  you 
a  cent." 

"I'll  be  glad  to  pay  you,  Major.  Such  a  decision 
enforced  against  me  now  would  mean  absolute  ruin.  I 
can't  borrow  another  cent." 

"Leave  Ezra  with  me." 

"Why  couldn't  they  put  soldiers  into  this  Bureau  if 
they  had  to  have  it,  instead  of  these  skunks  and  wolves  ?  " 
snorted  the  General. 

"Well,  some  of  them  are  a  little  off  in  the  odour  of 
their  records  at  home,  I'll  admit,"  said  the  Major,  with  a 
dry  smile.  "But  this  is  the  day  of  the  cairion  crow, 
General.  You  know  they  always  follow  the  armies. 
They  attack  the  wounded  as  well  as  the  dead.  You 
have  my  heartfelt  sympathy.  You  have  dark  days 
ahead.  The  death  of  Mr.  Lincoln  was  the  most  awful 
calamity  that  could  possibly  have  befallen  the  South. 
I'm  sorry. '  I've  learned  to  like  you  Southerners  and 
to  love  these  beautiful  skies  and  fields  of  eternal  green, 
It's  my  country  and  yours.  I  fought  you  to  keep  it  as 
the  heritage  of  my  children." 


78  The  Leopard's  Spots 

The  General's  eyes  filled  with  tears  and  the  two  men 
silently  clasped  each  other's  hands. 

"Send  in  your  accounts  by  your  clerk.  I'll  look  them 
over  to-night  and  I've  no  doubt  the  Honourable  Reverend 
Ezra  Perkins  will  see  a  new  light  with  the  rising  of 
to-morrow's  sun." 

And  Ezra  did  see  a  new  light.  As  the  Major  cursed 
him  in  all  the  moods  and  tenses  he  knew,  Ezra  thought 
he  smelled  brimstone  in  that  light. 

"I  assure  you,  Major,  I'm  sorry  the  thing  happened. 
My  assistant  did  all  the  work  on  these  papers.  I 
hadn't  time  to  give  them  personal  attention,"  the  Agent 
apologised  in  his  humblest  voice. 

"You're  a  liar.     Don't  waste  your  breath." 

Ezra  bit  his  lips  and  pulled  his  Mormon  whiskers. 

"Write  out  your  decision  now — this  minute — con 
firming  these  accounts  in  double-quick  order,  unless  you 
are  looking  for  trouble." 

And  Ezra  hastened  to  do  as  he  was  bidden. 

The  next  day,  while  the  General  was  seated  on  the 
porch  of  the  little  hotel  discussing  his  campaigns  with 
Major  Grant,  Tom  Camp  sent  for  him. 

Tom  took  the  General  round  behind  his  house  with 
grave  ceremony. 

"What  are  you  up  to,  Tom?" 

"Show  you  in  a  minute.  I  wish  I  could  make  v-  i  a 
handsomer  present,  General,  to  show  you  how  n  \  •  >  I 
think  of  you.  But  I  know  yer  weakness,  anyhow. 
There's  the  finest  lot  er  lightwood  you  ever  seed  " 

Tom  turned  back  some  old  bagging  and  revealed  a  pile 
of  fat  pine  chips  covered  witn  resin,  evidently  chipped 
carefully  out  of  the  boxed  place  of  live  pine  trees. 

The  General  had  two  crotchets,  lightwood  and  water- 
power.  When  he  got  hold  of  a  fine  lot  of  lightwood 


The  Man  or  Brute  in  Embryo          79 

suitable  for  kindling  fires  he  would  fill  his  closet  with  it, 
conceal  it  under  his  bed,  and  sometimes  under  his 
mattress.  He  would  even  hide  it  in  his  bureau  drawers 
and  wardrobe  and  take  it  out  in  little  bits  like  a 
miser. 

"Lord,  Tom,  that  beats  the  world!" 

"Ain't  it  fine?    Justsmeil!" 

"Resin  on  every  piece !  Tom,  you  cut  every  tree  on 
your  place  and  every  tree  in  two  miles  clean  to  get 
that.  You  couldn't  have  made  me  a  gift  I  would 
appreciate  more.  Old  boy,  if  there's  ever  a  time  in 
your  life  that  you  need  a  friend,  you  know  where  to 
find  me." 

"I  knowed  ye'd  like  it,"  said  Tom,  with  a  smile. 

"Tom,  you're  a  man  after  my  own  heart.  You're 
feeling  rich  enough  to  make  your  General  a  present 
when  we  are  all  about  to  starve.  You're  a  man  of 
faith.  So  am  I.  I  say  keep  a  stiff  upper  lip  and  peg 
away.  The  sun  still  shines,  the  rains  refresh,  and  water 
runs  down  hill  yet.  That's  one  thing  Uncle  Billy 
Sherman's  army  couldn't  do  much  with  when  they  put 
us  to  the  test  of  fire:  he  couldn't  burn  up  our  water- 
power.  Tom,  you  may  not  know  it,  but  I  do — we've 
got  water-power  enough  to  turn  every  wheel  in  the 
world.  Wait  till  we  get  our  harness  on  it  and  make  it 
spin  and  weave  our  cotton — we'll  feed  and  clothe  the 
human  race.  Faith's  my  motto.  I  can  hardly  get 
enough  to  eat  now,  but  better  times  are  coming.  A 
man's  just  as  big  as  his  faith.  I've  got  faith  in  the 
South.  I've  got  faith  in  the  good- will  of  the  people  of 
the  North.  Slavery  is  dead.  They  can't  feel  anything 
but  kindly  toward  an  enemy  that  fought  as  bravely 
and  lost  all.  We've  got  one  country  now  and  it's 
going  to  be  a  great  one. 

"You're  right,  General;  faith's  the  word." 


8o  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"Tom,  you  don't  know  how  this  gift  from  you 
touches  me." 

The  General  pressed  the  old  soldier's  hand  with 
feeling.  He  changed  his  orders  from  a  buggy  to  a  two- 
horse  team  that  could  carry  all  his  precious  lightwood. 
He  filled  the  vehicle,  and  what  was  left  he  packed 
carefully  in  his  valise. 

He  stopped  his  team  in  front  of  the  Baptist  parsonage 
to  see  Mrs.  Durham  about  Allan  McLeod. 

' '  Delighted  to  see  you,  General  Worth.  It's  refreshing 
to  look  into  the  faces  of  our  great  leaders,  if  they  are 
still  outlawed  as  rebels  by  the  Washington  government." 

"Ah,  Madam,  I  need  not  say  it  is  refreshing  to  see 
you,  the  rarest  and  most  beautiful  flower  of  the  old 
South  in  the  days  of  her  wealth  and  pride !  And 
always  the  same  ! "  The  General  bowed  over  her  hand. 

"Yes;  I  haven't  surrendered  yet." 

"And  you  never  will,"  he  laughed. 

"Why  should  I?  They've  done  their  worst.  They 
have  robbed  me  of  all.  I've  only  rags  and  ashes  left." 

"Things  might  still  be  worse,  Madam." 

"I  can't  see  it.  There  is  nothing  but  suffering  and 
ruin  before  us.  These  ignorant  negroes  are  now  being 
taught  by  people  who  hate  or  misunderstand  us.  They 
can  only  be  a  scourge  to  society.  I  am  heartsick  when 
I  try  to  think  of  the  future  ! " 

There  was  a  mist  about  her  eyes  that  betrayed 
the  deep  emotion  with  which  she  uttered  the  last 
sentence. 

She  was  a  queenly  woman  of  the  brunette  type,  with 
full  face  of  striking  beauty  surmounted  by  a  mass  of 
rich  chestnut  hair.  The  loss  of  her  slaves  and  estate  in 
the  war  had  burned  its  message  o*  bitterness  into  her 
soul.  She  had  the  ways  of  that  imperious  aristocracy 
of  the  South  that  only  slavery  could  nourish.  She  was 


The  Man  or  Brute  in  Embryo          81 

still  uncompromising  upon   every  issue  that  touched 
the  life  of  the  past. 

She  believed  in  slavery  as  the  only  possible  career  for 
a  negro  in  America.  The  war  had  left  her  cynical  on 
the  future  of  the  new  "Mulatto"  nation,  as  she  called 
it,  born  in  its  agony.  Her  only  child  had  died  during 
the  war,  and  this  great  sorrow  had  not  softened  but 
rather  hardened  her  nature. 

Her  husband's  career  as  a  preacher  was  now  a  double 
cross  to  her  because  it  meant  the  doom  of  eternal 
poverty.  In  spite  of  her  love  for  her  husband  and  her 
determination  with  all  her  opposite  tastes  to  do  her 
duty  as  his  wife,  she  could  not  get  used  to  poverty. 
She  hated  it  in  her  soul  with  quiet  intensity. 

The  General  was  thinking  of  all  this  as  he  tried  to 
frame  a  cheerful  answer.  Somehow  he  could  not  think 
of  anything  worth  while  to  say  to  her.  So  he  changed 
the  subject. 

"Mrs.  Durham,  I've  called  to  ask  your  interest  in 
your  Sunday-school  in  a  boy  who  is  a  sort  of  ward  of 
mine,  young  Allan  McLeod." 

"That  handsome  red-headed  fellow,  that  looks  like 
a  tiger,  I've  seen  playing  in  the  streets  ?"  . 

"Yes;  I  want  you  to  tame  him." 

"Well,  I  will  try  for  your  sake,  though  he's  a  little 
older  than  any  boy  in  my  class.  He  must  be  over 
fifteen." 

"Just  fifteen.  I'm  deeply  interested  in  him.  I  am 
going  to  give  him  a  good  education.  His  father  was  a 
drunken  Scotchman  in  my  brigade  whose  loyalty  to 
me  as  his  chief  was  so  genuine  and  touching  I  couldn't 
help  loving  him.  He  was  a  man  of  fine  intellect  and 
some  culture.  His  trouble  was  drink.  He  never  could 
get  up  in  life  on  that  account.  I  have  an  idea  that  he 
married  his  wife  while  on  one  of  his  drunks.  She  is 


82  The  Leopard's  Spots 

from  down  in  Robeson  County,  and  he  told  me  she  was 
related  to  the  outlaws  who  have  infested  that  section 
for  years.  This  boy  looks  like  his  mother,  though  he 
gets  that  red  hair  and  those  laughing  eyes  from  his 
father.  I  want  you  to  take  hold  of  him  and  civilise 
him  for  me." 

"I'll  try,  General.     You  know  I  love  boys." 

"You  will  find  him  rude  and  boisterous  at  first,  but 
I  think  he's  got  something  in  him." 

"I'll  send  for  him  to  come  to  see  me  Saturday." 

"Thank  you,  Madam.  I  must  go.  My  love  to 
Doctor  Durham." 

The  next  Saturday,  when  Mrs.  Durham  walked  into 
her  little  parlour  to  see  Allan,  the  boy  was  scared 
nearly  out  of  his  wits.  He  sprang  to  his  feet,  stam 
mered  and  blushed,  and  looked  as  though  he  were 
going  to  jump  out  of  the  window. 

Mrs.  Durham  looked  at  him  with  a  smile  that  quite 
disarmed  his  fears,  took  his  outstretched  hand,  and  held 
it  trembling  in  hers. 

"  I  know  we  will  be  good  friends,  won't  we  ? " 

"Yessum,"  he  stammered. 

"And  you  won't  tie  any  more  tin  cans  to  dogs  like 
you  did  to  Charlie  Gaston's  little  terrier,  will  you?  I 
like  boys  full  of  life  and  spirit,  just  so  they  don't  do 
mean  and  cruel  things." 

The  boy  was  ready  to  promise  her  anything.  He 
was  charmed  with  her  beauty  and  gentle  ways.  He 
thought  her  the  most  beautiful  woman  he  had  ever 
seen  in  the  world.  ' 

As  they  started  toward  the  door  she  gently  slipped 
one  arm  around  him,  put  her  hand  under  his  chin  and 
kissed  him. 

Then  he  was  ready  to  die  for  her.  It  was  the  first 
kiss  he  had  ever  received  from  a  woman's  lips.  His 


The  Man  or  Brute  in  Embryo          83 

mother  was  not  a  demonstrative  woman.  He  never 
recalled  a  kiss  she  had  given  him.  His  blood  tingled 
with  the  delicious  sense  of  this  one's  sweetness.  All 
the  afternoon  he  sat  out  under  a  tree  and  dreamed  and 
watched  the  house  where  this  wonderful  thing  had- 
happened  to  him. 


CHAPTER  XI 
SIMON    LEGREE 

IN  the  death  of  Mr.  Lincoln  a  group  of  radical  poli 
ticians,  hitherto  suppressed,  saw  their  supreme 
opportunity  to  obtain  control  of  the  nation  in  the 
crisis  of  an  approaching  Presidential  campaign. 

Now  they  could  fasten  their  schemes  of  proscription, 
confiscation  and  revenge  upon  the  South. 

Mr.  Lincoln  had  held  these  wolves  at  bay  during  his 
life  by  the  power  of  his  great  personality.  But  the 
Lion  was  dead,  and  the  Wolf,  who  had  snarled  and 
snapped  at  him  in  life,  put  on  his  skin  and  claimed  the 
heritage  of  his  power.  The  Wolf  whispered  his  message 
of  hate,  and  in  the  hour  of  partisan  passion  became 
the  master  of  the  nation. 

Busy  feet  had  been  hurrying  back  and  forth  from  the 
Southern  states  to  Washington  whispering  in  the  Wolf's 
ear  the  stories  of  sure  success  if  only  the  plan  of  pro 
scription,  disfranchisement  of  whites  and  enfranchise 
ment  of  blacks  were  carried  out. 

This  movement  was  inaugurated  two  years  after  the 
war,  with  every  Southern  state  in  profound  peace  and 
in  a  life  and  death  struggle  with  nature  to  prevent 
famine.  The  new  revolution  destroyed  the  Union  a 
second  time,  paralysed  every  industry  in  the  South, 
and  transformed  ten  peaceful  states  into  roaring  hells 
cf  anarchy.  We  have  easily  outlived  the  sorrows  of 
the  war.  That  was  a  surgery  which  healed  the  body. 
But  the  child  has  not  yet  been  born  whose  children's 

84 


Simon  Legree  85 

children  will  live  to  see  the  healing  of  the  wounds  from 
those  four  years  of  chaos,  when  fanatics,  blinded  by 
passion,  armed  millions  of  ignorant  Negroes  and  thrust 
them  into  mortal  combat  with  the  proud,  bleeding, 
half-starving  Anglo-Saxon  race  of  the  South.  Such  a 
deed  once  done  can  never  be  undone.  It  fixes  the 
status  of  these  races  for  a  thousand  years,  if  not 
for  eternity. 

The  South  was  now  rapidly  gathering  into  two  hostile 
armies  under  these  influences,  with  race  marks  as 
uniforms — the  Black  against  the  White. 

The  Negro  army  was  under  the  command  of  a  trium 
virate — the  Carpet-bagger  from  the  North,  the  native 
Scalawag  and  the  Negro  Demagogue. 

Entirely  distinct  from  either  of  these  was  the  genuine 
Yankee  soldier  settler  in  the  South  after  the  war,  who 
came  because  he  loved  its  genial  skies  and  kindly 
people. 

Ultimately  some  of  these  Northern  settlers  were 
forced  into  politics  by  conditions  around  them,  and 
they  constituted  the  only  conscience  and  brains  visible 
in  public  life  during  the  reign  of  terror  which  the 
"Reconstruction"  regime  inaugurated. 

In  the  winter  of  1866  the  Union  League  at  Hambright 
held  a  meeting  of  special  importance.  The  attendance 
was  large  and  enthusiastic. 

Amos  Hogg,  the  defeated  candidate  for  Governor  in 
the  last  election,  nov/the  President  of  the  Federation  of 
"Loyal  Leagues,"  had  sent  a  special  ambassador  to 
this  meeting  to  receive  reports  and  give  instructions. 

This  ambassador  was  none  other  than  the  famous 
Simon  Legree  of  Red  River,  who  had  migrated  to  North 
Carolina,  attracted  by  the  first  proclamation  of  the 
President,  announcing  his  plan  for  readmitting  the 
state  to  the  Union.  The  rumours  of  his  death  proved  a 


86  The  Leopard's  Spots 

mistake.  He  had  quit  drink  and  set  his  mind  on 
greater  vices. 

In  his  face  were  the  features  of  the  distinguished 
ruffian  whose  cruelty  to  his  slaves  had  made  him  unique 
in  infamy  in  the  annals  of  the  South.  He  was  now 
preeminently  the  type  of  the  "truly  loyal."  At  the 
first  rumour  of  war  he  had  sold  his  Negroes  and  migrated 
nearer  the  border  land,  that  he  might  the  better  avoid 
service  in  either  army.  He  succeeded  in  doing  this. 
The  last  two  years  of  the  war,  however,  the  enlisting 
officers  pressed  him  hard,  until  finally  he  hit  on  a 
brilliant  scheme. 

He  shaved  clean  and  dressed  as  a  German  emigrant 
woman.  He  wore  dresses  for  two  years,  did  house 
work,  milked  the  cows  and  cut  wood  for  a  good-natured 
old  German.  He  paid  for  his  board,  and  passed  for  a 
sister  just  from  the  old  country. 

When  the  war  closed  he  resumed  male  attire,  became 
a  violent  Union  man,  and  swore  that  he  had  been 
hounded  and  persecuted  without  mercy  by  the  Seces 
sionist  rebels. 

He  was  looking  more  at  ease  now  than  ever  in  his 
life.  He  wore  a  silk  hat  and  a  new  suit  of  clothes  made 
by  a  fashionable  tailor  in  Raleigh.  He  was  a  little 
older  looking  than  when  he  killed  Uncle  Tom  on  his 
farm  some  ten  years  before,  but  otherwise  unchanged. 
He  had  the  same  short,  muscular  body,  round  bullet 
head,  light  gray  eyes  and  shaggy  eyebrows ;  but  his  deep 
chestnut  bristly  hair  had  been  trimmed  by  a  barber. 
His  coarse,  thick  lips  drooped  at  the  corners  of  his 
mouth  and  emphasised  the  crook  in  his  nose.  His 
eyes,  well  &et  apart,  as  of  old,  were  bold,  commanding 
and  flashed  with  the  cold  light  of  glittering  steel.  His 
teeth,  that  once  were  pointed  like  the  fangs  of  a  wolf, 
had  been  filed  by  a  dentist.  But  it  required  more  than 


Simon  Legree  87 

the  file  of  a  dentist  to  smooth  out  of  that  face  the 
ferocity  and  cruelty  that  years  of  dissolute  habits 
had  fixed. 

He  was  only  forty-two  years  old,  but  the  flabby  flesh 
under  his  eyes  and  his  enormous  square-cut  jaw  made 
him  look  fully  fifty. 

It  was  a  spectacle  for  gods  and  men  to  see  him 
harangue  that  Union  League  in  the  platitudes  of  loyalty 
to  the  Union,  and  to  watch  the  crowd  of  Negroes  hang 
breathless  on  his  every  word  as  the  inspired  Gospel  of 
God.  The  only  notable  change  in  him  from  the  old 
days  was  in  his  speech.  He  had  hired  a  man  to  teach 
him  grammar  and  pronunciation.  He  had  high  ambi 
tions  for  the  future. 

"Be  of  good  cheer,  beloved !"  he  said  to  the  Negroes. 
"A  great  day  is  coming  for  you.  You  are  to  rule  this 
land.  Your  old  masters  are  to  dig  in  the  fields  and  you 
are  to  sit  under  the  shade  and  be  gentlemen.  Old  Andy 
Johnson  will  be  kicked  out  of  the  White  House  or  hung, 
and  the  farms  you've  worked  on  so  long  will  be  divided 
among  you.  You  can  rent  them  to  your  old  masters 
and  live  in  ease  the  balance  of  your  life." 

"Glory  to  God!"  shouted  an  old  Negro. 

"  I  have  just  been  to  Washington  for  our  great  leader, 
Amos  Hogg.  I've  seen  Mr.  Sumner,  Mr.  Stevens  and 
Mr.  Butler.  I  have  shown  them  that  we  can  carry  any 
state  in  the  South  if  they  will  only  give  you  the  ballot 
and  take  it  away  from  enough  rebels.  We  have  promised 
them  the  votes  in  the  Presidential  election,  and  they 
are  going  to  give  us  what  we  want." 

"Hallelujah!  Amen!  Yas,  Lawd!"  The  fervent 
exclamations  came  from  every  part  of  the  room. 

After  the  meeting  the  Negroes  pressed  around  Legree 
and  shook  his  hand  with  eagerness — the  same  hand  that 
was  red  with  the  blood  of  their  race. 


88  The  Leopard's  Spots 

When  the  crowd  had  dispersed  a  meeting  of  the 
leaders  was  held. 

Dave  Haley,  the  ex-slave  trader  from  Kentucky,  who 
had  dodged  back  and  forth  from  the  mountains  of  his 
native  state  to  the  mountains  of  western  North  Carolina 
and  kept  out  of  the  armies,  was  there.  He  had  settled 
in  Hambright,  and  hoped  at  least  to  get  the  post-office 
under  the  new  dispensation. 

In  the  group  was  the  full-blooded  Negro,  Tim  Shelby. 
He  had  belonged  to  the  Shelbys  of  Kentucky,  but  had 
escaped  through  Ohio  into  Canada  before  the  war.  He 
had  returned  home  with  great  expectations  of  revolu 
tions  to  follow  in  the  wake  of  the  victorious  armies  of 
the  North.  He  had  been  disappointed  in  the  pro 
gramme  of  kindliness  and  mercy  that  immediately 
followed  the  fall  of  the  Confederacy,  but  he  had  been 
busy  day  and  night  since  the  war  in  organising  the 
Negroes,  in  secretly  furnishing  them  arms,  and  wherever 
possible  he  had  them  grouped  in  military  posts  and 
regularly  drilled.  He  was  elated  at  the  brilliant  pros 
pects  which  Legree's  report  from  Washington  opened. 

"  Glorious  news  you  bring  us,  brother  ! "  he  exclaimed, 
as  he  slapped  Legree  on  the  back. 

"Yes,  and  it's  straight." 

"Did  Mr.  Stevens  tell  you  so?" 

"He's  the  man  that  told  me." 

"Well,  you  can  tie  to  him.  He's  the  master  now 
that  rules  the  country,"  said  Tim,  with  enthusiasm. 

"You  bet  he's  runnin'  it.  He  showed  me  his  bill  to 
confiscate  the  property  of  the  rebels  and  give  it  to  the 
truly  loyal  and  the  niggers.  It's  a  hummer.  You 
ought  to  have  seen  the  old  man's  eyes  flash  fire  when  he 
pulled  that  bill  out  of  his  desk  and  read  it  to  me." 

"When  will  he  pass  it?" 

"Two  years,  yet.     He  told  me  the  fools  up  North 


Simon  Legree  89 

were  not  quite  ready  for  it, "and  that  he  had  two  other 
bills  first  that  would  run  the  South  crazy  and  so  fire 
the  North  that  he  could  pass  anything  he  wanted  and 
hang  old  Andy  Johnson  lesides." 

"Praise  God!"  shouted  Tim,  as  he  threw  his  arms 
around  Legree  and  hugged  him. 

Tim  kept  his  kinky  hair  cut  close,  and  when  excited 
he  had  a  way  of  wrinkling  his  scalp  so  as  to  lift  his 
ears  up  and  down  like  a  mule.  His  lips  were  big  and 
thick,  and  he  combed  assiduously  a  tiny  mustache 
which  he  tried  in  vain  to  pull  out  in  straight  Napoleonic 
style. 

He  worked  his  scalp  and  ears  vigorously  as  he 
exclaimed,  "Tell  us  the  whole  plan,  brother." 

"The  plan's  simple,"  said  Legree.  "Mr.  Stevens  is 
going  to  give  the  nigger  the  ballot  and  take  it  from 
enough  white  men  to  give  the  niggers  a  majority.  Tb:  a 
he  will  kick  old  Andy  Johnson  out  of  the  White  House, 
put  the  gag  on  the  Supreme  Court  so  the  South  can't 
appeal,  pass  his  bill  to  confiscate  the  property  of  the 
rebels  and  give  it  to  loyal  men  and  the  niggers,  and  run 
the  rebels  out." 

"And  the  beauty  of  the  plan  is,"  said  Tim,  with 
unction,  "that  they  are  going  to  allow  the  Negro  to  vote 
to  give  himself  the  ballot  and  not  allow  the  white  man 
to  vote  against  it.  That's  what  I  call  a  dead  sure  thing." 
Tim  drew  himself  up,  a  sardonic  grin  revealing  his  white 
teeth  from  ear  to  ear.  and  burst  into  an  impassioned 
harangue  to  the  excited  group.  He  was  endowed  with 
native  eloquence,  and  had  graduated  from  a  college 
in  Canada  under  the  private  tutorship  of  its  professors. 
He  was  well  versed  in  English  history.  He  could 
hold  an  audience  of  Negroes  spellbound,  and  his 
audacity  commanded  the  attention  of  the  boldest  white 
man  who  heard  him. 


90  The  Leopard's  Spots 

Legree,  Perkins  and  Haley  cheered  his  wild  utterances 
and  urged  him  to  greater  flights. 

He  paused  as  though  about  to  stop,  when  Legree, 
evidently  surprised  and  delighted  at  his  powers,  said. 
"Go  on!  Go  on!" 

"Yes,  go  on!"  shouted  Perkins.  "We  are  done 
with  race  and  colour  lines." 

A  dreamy  look  came  to  Tim's  eyes  as  he  continued: 

"Our  proud  white  aristocrats  of  the  South  are  in  a 
panic,  it  seems.  They  feel  the  coming  power  of  the 
Negro.  They  fear  their  Desdemonas  may  be  fascinated 
again  by  an  Othello !  Well,  Othellp's  day  has  come 
at  last.  If  he  has  dreamed  dreams  in  the  past,  his 
tongue  dared  not  speak;  the  day  is  fast  coming  when 
he  will  put  these  dreams  into  deeds,  not  words. 

' '  The  South  has  not  paid  the  penalties  of  her  crimes. 
Tlie  work  of  the  conqueror  has  not  yet  been  done  in 
this  land.  Our  work  now  is  to  bring  the  proud  low 
and  exalt  the  lowly.  This  is  the  first  duty  of  the 
conqueror. 

"The  French  Revolutionists  established  a  tannery 
where  they  tanned  the  hides  of  dead  aristocrats  into 
leather  with  which  they  shod  the  common  people. 
This  was  France  in  the  eighteenth  century  with  a 
thousand  years  of  Christian  culture. 

"When  the  English  army  conquered  Scotland  they 
hunted  and  killed  every  fugitive  to  a  man,  tore  from 
the  homes  of  their  fallen  foes  their  wives,  stripped 
them  naked,  and  made  them  follow  the  army,  begging 
bread,  the  laughing  stock  and  sport  of  every  soldier 
and  camp  follower !  This  was  England  in  the  meridian 
of  Anglo-Saxon  intellectual  glory,  the  England  of 
Shakspere  who  was  writing  Othello  to  please  the  war 
like  populace. 

"I  say  to  my  people  now  in  the  language  of  the 


Simon  Legree  91 

inspired  Word,  'All  things  are  yours.'  I  have  been 
drilling  and  teaching  them  through  the  Union  League, 
the  young  and  the  old.  I  have  told  the  old  men  that 
they  will  be  just  as  useful  as  the  young.  If  they  can't 
carry  a  musket,  they  can  apply  the  torch  when  the 
time  comes.  And  they  are  ready  now  to  answer  the 
call  of  the  Lord/' 

They  crowded  around  Tim  and  wrung  his   hand. 

Early  in  867,  two  years  after  the  war,  Thaddeus 
Stevens  passed  through  Congress  his  famous  bill  destroy 
ing  the  governments  of  the  Southern  states  and  dividing 
them  into  military  districts,  enfranchising  the  whole 
Negro  race  and  disfranchising  one-fourth  of  the  whites. 
The  army  was  sent  back  to  the  South  to  enforce  these 
decrees  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet.  The  authority 
of  the  Supreme  Court  was  destroyed  by  a  supplementary 
act  and  the  South  denied  the  right  of  appeal.  Mr. 
Stevens  then  introduced  his  bill  to  confiscate  the 
property  of  the  white  people  of  the  South.  The  Negroes 
laid  down  their  hoes  and  ploughs  and  began  to  gather 
in  excited  meetings.  Crimes  of  violence  increased 
daily.  Not  a  night  passed  but  that  a  burning  barn  or 
home  wrote  its  message  of  anarchy  on  the  black  sky. 

The  Negroes  refused  to  sign  any  contracts  to  work, 
to  pay  rents,  or  vacate  their  houses  on  notice  even 
from  the  Freedman's  Bureau. 

The  Negroes  on  General  Worth's  plantation  not 
only  refused  to  work,  or  move,  but  organised  to  prevent 
any  white  man  from  putting  his  foot  on  the  land. 

General  Worth  procured  a  special  order  from  the 
headquarters  of  the  Freedman's  Bureau  for  the  district 
located  at  Independence.  When  the  officer  appeared 
and  attempted  to  serve  this  notice  the  Negroes 
mobbed  him. 


92  The  Leopard's  Spots 

A  company  of  troops  were  ordered  to  Hambright, 
and  the  notice  served  again  by  the  Bureau  official 
accompanied  by  the  captain  of  this  company. 

The  Negroes  asked  for  time  to  hold  a  meeting  and 
discuss  the  question.  They  held  their  meeting  and 
gathered  fully  five  hundred  men  from  the  neighbour 
hood,  all  armed  with  revolvers  or  muskets.  They  asked 
Legree  and  Tim  Shelby  to  tell  them  what  they  should 
do.  There  was  no  uncertain  sound  in  what  Legree 
said.  He  looked  over  the  crowd  of  eager  faces  with 
pride  and  conscious  power. 

"Gentlemen,  your  duty  is  plain.  Hold  your  land. 
It's  yours.  You've  worked  it  for  a  lifetime.  These 
officers  here  tell  you  that  old  Andy  Johnson  has  pardoned 
General  Worth  and  that  you  have  no  rights  on  the  land 
without  his  contract.  I  tell  you  old  Andy  Johnson  has 
no  right  to  pardon  a  rebel,  and  that  he  will  be  hung 
before  another  year.  Thaddeus  Stevens,  Charles 
Sumner  and  B.  F.  Butler  are  running  this  country. 
Mr.  Stevens  has  never  failed  yet  on  anything  he  has 
set  his  hand.  He  has  promised  to  give  you  the  land. 
Stick  to  it.  Shake  your  fist  in  old  Andy  Johnson's 
face  and  the  face  of  this  Bureau  and  tell  them  so." 

"Dat  we  will!"  shouted  a  Negro  woman,  as  Tim 
Shelby  rose  to  speak. 

"You  have  suffered,"  said  Tim.  "Now  let  the 
white  man  suffer.  Times  have  changed.  In  the  old 
days  the  white  man  said,  'John,  come  black  my 
boots.'  And  the  poor  Negro  had  to  black  his  boots. 
I  expect  to  see  the  day  when  I  will  say  to  a  white  man , 
'Black  my  boots.'  And  the  white  man  will  tip  his 
hat  and  hurry  to  do  what  I  tell  him." 

"Yes,  Lawd  I     Glory  to  God  !     Hear  dat,  now !" 

"We  will  drive  the  white  man  out  of  this  country. 
That  is  the  purpose  of  our  friends  ;  t  Washington.  If 


Simon  Legree  93 

white  men  want  to  live  in  the  South  they  can  become 
our  servants.  If  they  don't  like  their  job  they  can 
move  to  a  more  congenial  climate.  You  have  Congress 
on  your  side,  backed  by  a  million  bayonets.  There 
is  no  President.  The  Supreme  Court  is  chained.  In 
San  Domingo  no  white  man  is  allowed  to  vote,  hold 
office  or  hold  a  foot  of  land.  We  will  make  this  mighty 
South  a  more  glorious  San  Domingo." 

A  frenzied  shout  rent  the  air.  Tim  and  Legree 
were  carried  on  the  shoulders  of  stalwart  men  in 
triumphant  procession,  with  five  hundred  crazy  Negroes 
yelling  and  screaming  at  their  heels. 

The  officers  made  their  escape  in  the  confusion  and 
beat  a  hasty  retreat  to  town.  They  reported  the 
situation  to  headquarters  and  asked  for  instructions. 


CHAPTER     XII 
RED     SNOWDROPS 

THE  spirit  of  anarchy  was  in  the  tainted  air. 
The  bonds  that  held  society  were  loosened. 
Government  threatened  to  become  organised 
crime  instead  of  the  organised  virtue  of  the  community. 

Tht  report  of  crimes  of  unusual  horror  among 
the  ignorant  and  the  vicious  began  now  to  startle 
the  world. 

The  Reverend  John  Durham,  on  his  rounds  among  the 
poor,  discovered  a  little  Negro  boy  whom  the  parents 
had  abandoned  to  starve.  His  father  had  become  a 
drunken  loafer  at  Independence,  and  the  Freedman's 
Bureau  delivered  the  child  to  his  mother  and  her  sister, 
who  lived  in  a  cabin  about  two  miles  from  Hambright, 
and  ordered  them  to  care  for  the  boy. 

A  few  days  later  the  child  had  disappeared.  A 
search  was  instituted,  and  the  charred  bones  were 
found  in  an  old  ash-heap  in  the  woods  near  this  cabin. 
The  mother  had  knocked  him  in  the  head  and  burned 
the  bo.'/,  in  a  drunken  orgie  with  dissolute  companions. 

The  sense  of  impending  disaster  crushed  the  hearts 
of  thoughtful  and  serious  people.  One  of  the  last 
acts  of  Governor  Macon,  whose  office  was  now  under 
the  control  of  the  military  commandant  at  Charleston, 
South  Carolina,  was  to  issue  a  proclamation  appoint 
ing  a  day  of  fasting  and  prayer  to  God  for  deliverance 
from  the  ruin  that  threatened  the  state  under  the 
dominion  of  Legree  and  the  Negroes. 

94 


Red  Snowdrops  95 

It  was  a  memorable  day  in  the  history  of  the  people. 
In  many  of  the  places  they  met  in  the  churches  the 
night  before  and  held  all-night  watches  and  prayer 
meetings.  They  felt  that  a  pestilence  worse  than  the 
Black  Death  of  the  Middle  Ages  threatened  to  extin 
guish  civilisation. 

The  Baptist  church  at  Hambright  was  >  crowded 
to  the  doors  with  white-faced  women  and  sorrowful 
men.  % 

About  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  pale  and  haggard 
from  a  sleepless  night  of  prayer  and  thought,  the 
Preacher  arose  to  address  the  people.  The  hush  of  death 
fell  as  he  gazed  silently  over  the  audience  for  a  moment. 
How  pale  his  face  !  They  had  never  seen  him  so  moved 
with  passions  that  stirred  his  inmost  soul.  His  first 
words  were  addressed  to  God.  He  did  not  seem  to  see 
the  people  before  him. 

"Lord,  thou  hast  been  our  dwelling  place  in  all 
generations. 

"Before  the  mountains  were  brought  forth  or  ever 
thou  hadst  formed  the  earth  and  the  world,  even  from 
everlasting  to  everlasting,  thou  art  God !  " 

The  people  instinctively  bowed  their  heads,  fired  by 
the  subtle  quality  of  intense  emotion  the  tones  of  his 
voice  communicated,  and  many  of  the  people  were 
already  in  tears. 

"Thou    turnest    man    to    destruction:    and    sayest 
return,  ye  children  of  men. 

"Who  knowest  the  power  of  thine  anger? 

"Return,  O  Lord,  how  long?  and  let  it  repent  thee 
concerning  thy  servants. 

"Beloved,"  he  continued,  "it  was  permitted  unto 
your  fathers  and  brothers  and  children  to  die  for  their 
country.  You  must  live  for  her  in  the  black  hour  of 
despair.  There  will  be  no  roar  of  guns,  no  long  lines 


96  The  Leopard's  Spots 

of  gleaming  bayonets,  no  flash  of  pageantry  or  martial 
music  to  stir  your  souls. 

"You  are  called  to  go  down,  man  by  man,  alone, 
naked  and  unarmed  in  the  blackness  of  night,  and 
fight  with  the  powers  of  hell  for  your  civilisation. 

"You  must  look  this  question  squarely  in  the  face. 
You  are  to  be  put  to  the  supreme  test.  You  are  to 
stand  at  the  judgment  bar  of  the  ages  and  make  good 
your  right  to  life.  The  attempt  is  to  be  deliberately 
made  to  blot  out  Anglo-Saxon  society  and  substitute 
African  barbarism. 

"A  few  year  ago  a  Southern  Representative  in  a 
stupid  rage  knocked  Charles  Sumner  down  with  a  cane 
and  cracked  his  skull.  Now  it  is  this  poor  cracked  brain, 
mad  with  hate  and  revenge,  that  is  attempting  to  blot 
the  Southern  states  from  the  map  of  the  world  and 
build  Negro  territories  on  their  ruins.  In  the  madness 
of  party  passions,  for  the  first  time  in  history,  an 
anarchist,  Thaddeus  Stevens,  has  obtained  the  dicta 
torship  of  a  great  Constitutional  Government,  hauled 
down  its  flag  and  nailed  the  Black  Flag  of  Confiscation 
and  Revenge  to  its  masthead. 

"The  excuse  given  for  this,  that  the  lawmakers  of 
the  South  attempted  to  reinslave  the  Negro  by  their 
enactments  against  vagrants  and  provisions  for  appren 
ticeship,  is  so  weak  a  lie  it  will  not  deserve  the  notice 
of  a  future  historian.  Every  law  passed  on  these 
subjects  since  the  abolition  of  slavery  was  simply  copied 
from  the  codes  of  the  Northern  states  where  free 
labour  was  the  basis  of  society. 

"Lincoln  alone,  with  his  great  human  heart  and 
broad  statesmanship,  could  have  saved  us.  But  the 
South  had  no  luck.  Again  and  again  in  the  war 
victory  was  within  her  grasp  and  an  unseen  hand 
snatched  it  away.  In  the  hour  of  her  defeat  the  bullet 


Red  Snowdrops  97 

of  a  madman  strikes  down  the  great  President,  her 
last  refuge  in  ruin. 

"God  alone  is  our  help.  Let  us  hold  fast  to  our 
faith  in  Him.  We  can  only  cry  with  aching  hearts 
in  the  language  of  the  Psalmist  of  old,  'How  long, 
O  Lord?  How  long?' 

"The  voices  of  three  men  now  fill  the  world  with 
their  bluster — Charles  Sumner,  a  crack-brained  theorist ; 
Thaddeus  Stevens,  a  club-footed  misanthrope;  and 
B.  F.  Butler,  a  triumvirate  of  physical  and  mental 
deformity.  Yet  they  are  but  the  cracked  reeds  of 
a  great  organ  that  peals  forth  the  discord  of  a  nation's 
blind  rage.  When  the  storm  is  past,  and  reason  rules 
passion,  they  will  be  flung  into  oblivion.  We  must 
bend  to  the  storm.  It  is  God's  will." 

The  people  left  the  church  with  heavy  hearts.  They 
were  hopelessly  depressed.  In  the  afternoon,  as  the 
churches  were  being  slowly  emptied,  groups  of  Negroes 
stood  on  the  corners  talking  loudly  and  discussing 
the  msaning  of  this  new  Sunday  so  strangely  observed. 
It  began  to  snow.  It  was  late  in  March,  and  this  was 
an  unusual  phenomenon  in  the  South. 

The  next  morning  the  earth  was  covered  with  four 
inches  of  snow  that  glistened  in  the  sun  with  a  strange 
reddish  hue.  On  examination  it  was  found  that  every 
snowdrop  had  in  it  a  tiny  red  spot  that  looked  like  a 
drop  of  blood!  Nothing  of  this  kind  had  ever  been 
seen  before  in  the  history  of  the  world,  so  far  as  any 
one  knew. 

THIS  freak  of  Nature  seemed  a  harbinger  of  sure  and 
terrible  calamity.  Even  the  most  cultured  and  thought 
ful  could  not  shake  off  the  impression  it  made. 

The  Preacher  did  his  best  to  cheer  the  people  in  his 
daily  intercourse  with  them.  His  Sunday  sermons 
seemed  in  these  darkest  days  unusually  tender  and 


98  The  Leopard's  Spots 

hopeful.  It  was  a  marvel  to  those  who  heard  his  bitter 
and  sorrowful  speech  on  the  day  of  fasting  and  prayer 
that  he  could  preach  such  sermons  as  those  which 
followed. 

Occasionally  old  Uncle  Joshua  Miller  would  ask  him 
to  preach  for  the  Negroes  in  their  new  church  on  Sunday 
afternoons.  Ke  always  went,  hoping  to  keep  some 
sort  of  helpful  influence  over  them  in  spite  of  their  new 
leaders  and  teachers.  It  was  strange  to  watch  this  man 
shake  hands  with  these  Negroes,  call  them  familiarly  by 
their  names,  ask  kindly  after  their  families,  and  yet  carry 
in  his  heart  the  presage  of  a  coming  irreconcilable 
conflict.  For  no  one  knew  more  clearly  than  he  that 
the  issues  were  being  joined  from  the  deadly  grip  of  that 
conflict  of  races  that  would  determine  whether  this 
Republic  would  be  Mulatto  or  Anglo-Saxon.  Yet  at 
heart  he  had  only  the  kindliest  feelings  for  these  familiar 
dusky  faces  now  rising  a  black  storm  above  the  horizon, 
threatening  the  existence  of  civilised  society,  under 
the  leadership  of  Simon  Legree  and  Mr.  Stevens.  . 

It  seemed  a  joke  sometimes  as  he  thought  of  it,  a 
huge,  preposterous  joke,  this  actual  attempt  to  reverse 
the  order  of  Nature,  turn  society  upside  down,  and  make 
a  thick-lipped,  flat-nosed  negro,  but  yesterday  taken 
from  the  jungle,  the  ruler  of  the  proudest  and  strongest 
race  of  men  evolved  in  two  thousand  years  of  history. 
Yet  when  he  remembered  the  fierce  passions  in  the 
hearts  of  the  demagogues  who  were  experimenting 
with  this  social  dynamite  it  was  a  joke  that  took  on  a 
hellish,  sinister  meaning. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
DICK 

"HEN  Charlie  Gaston  reached  his  home  after  a 
never-to-be-forgotten  day  in  the  woods  with 
the  Preacher,  he  found  a  ragged  little  dirt- 
smeared  Negro  boy  peeping  through  the  fence  into  the 
wood  yard. 

"What  you  want?"  cried  Charlie. 

"NuttinV 

"What's  your  name?" 

"Dick." 

"Who's  your  father?" 

"Hain't  got  none.  My  mudder  say  she  was  tricked 
en  I'se  de  trick,"  he  chuckled,  and  walled  his  eyes. 

Charlie  came  close  and  looked  him  over.  Dick 
giggled  and  showed  the  whites  of  his  eyes. 

"What  made  that  streak  on  your  neck?" 

"Nigger  done  it  wid  er  ax." 

"What  nigger?" 

"Low  life  nigger  name  er  Amos  what  stays  roun'  our 
house  Sundays." 

"What  made  him  do  it?" 

"He  'low  he  wuz  me  daddy  en  I  sez  he  wuz  er  liar, 
en  den  he  grab  de  ax  en  try  ter  chop  me  head  off." 

"Gracious,  he  'most  killed  you!" 

"Yassir,  but  de  doctor  sewed  me  head  back,  en  hit 
grow'd." 

"Goodness  me !" 

"Say!"  grinned  Dick. 

99 


ioo  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"What?" 

"I  likes  you." 

"Do  you?" 

"Yassir,  en  I  ain't  gwine  home  no  mo'.  I  done  run 
away,  en  I  wants  ter  live  wid  you." 

"Will  you  help  me  and  Nelse  work?" 

"Datlwill.  I  can  do  mos' anyt'ing.  You  ax  yer  Ma 
fur  me,  en  doan'  let  dat  nigger  Nelse  git  holt  er  me." 

Charlie's  heart  went  out  to  the  ragged  little  waif.  He 
took  him  by  the  hand,  led  him  into  the  yard,  found 
his  mother,  and  begged  her  to  give  him  a  place  to  sleep 
and  keep  him. 

His  mother  tried  to  persuade  him  to  make  Dick  go 
back  to  his  home.  Nelse  was  loud  in  his  objections  to 
the  newcomer,  and  Aunt  Eve  looked  at  him  as  though 
she  would  throw  him  over  the  fence. 

But  Dick  stuck  doggedly  to  Charlie's  heels. 

"Mamma,  dear,  see,  they  tried  to  cut  his  head 
off  with  an  ax,"  cried  the  boy,  and  he  wheeled 
Dick  around  and  showed  the  terrible  scar  across 
the  back  of  his  neck. 

"I  spec  hit's  er  pity  dey  didn't  cut  hit  cleam  off," 
muttered  Nelse. 

"Mamma,  you  can't  send  him  back  to  be  killed!" 

"Well,  darling,  I'll  see  about  it  to-morrow." 

"Come  on,  Dick,  I'll  show  you  where  to  sleep." 

The  next  day  Dick's  mother  was  glad  to  get  rid  of 
him  by  binding  him  legally  to  Mrs.  Gaston,  and  a  lonely 
boy  found  a  playmate  and  partner  in  work  he  was 
never  to  forget. 


CHAPTER  XIV 
THE  NEGRO  UPRISING 

THE  summer  of  1867  !  Will  ever  a  Southern  man 
or  woman  who  saw  it  forget  its  scenes  ?  A 
group  of  oath-bound  secret  societies,  The  Union 
League,  The  Heroes  of  America  and  The  Red  Strings 
dominating  society,  and  marauding  bands  of  Negroes 
armed  to  the  teeth  terrorising  the  country,  stealing, 
burning  and  murdering. 

Labour  was  not  only  demoralised — it  had  ceased  to 
exist.  Depression  was  universal,  farming  paralysed, 
investments  dead,  and  all  property  insecure.  Moral 
obligations  were  dropping  away  from  conduct,  and  a 
gulf  as  deep  as  hell  and  high  as  heaven  opening  between 
the  two  races. 

The  Negro  preachers  openly  instructed  their  flocks  to 
take  what  they  needed  from  their  white  neighbours. 
If  any  man  dared  prosecute  a  thief  the  answer  was  a 
burned  barn  or  a  home  in  ashes. 

The  wildest  passions  held  riot  at  Washington.  The 
Congress  of  the  United  States,  as  a  deliberative  body 
under  constitutional  forms  of  government,  no  longer 
existed.  The  Speaker  of  the  House  shook  his  fist  at  the 
President  and  threatened  openly  to  hang  him,  and  he 
was  arraigned  for  impeachment  for  daring  to  exercise 
the  constitutional  functions  of  his  office. 

The  division  agents  of  the  Freedman's  Bureau  in  the 
South  sent  to  Washington  the  most  alarming  reports, 
declaring  a  famine  imminent.  In  reply  the  vindictive 

101 


102  The  Leopard's  Spots 

leaders  levied  a  tax  of  fifteen  dollars  a  bale  on  cotton, 
plunging  thousands  of  Southern  farmers  into  immediate 
bankruptcy  and  giving  to  India  and  Egypt  the  mastery 
of  the  cotton  markets  of  the  world. 

Congress  became  to  the  desolate  South  what  Attila, 
the  "Scourge  of  God,"  was  to  civilised  Europe. 

The  abolitionists  of  the  North,  whose  conscience  was 
the  fire  that  kindled  the  Civil  War,  rose  in  solemn 
protest  against  this  insanity.  Their  protest  was  drowned 
in  the  roar  of  multitudes  maddened  by  demagogues 
who  were  preparing  for  a  political  campaign. 

Late  in  August,  Hambright  and  Campbell  County 
were  thrilled  with  horror  at  the  report  of  a  terrible 
crime.  A  whole  white  family  had  been  murdered  in 
their  home,  the  father,  mother  and  three  children  in 
one  night,  and  no  clue  to  the  murderers  could  be 
found. 

Two  days  later  the  rumour  spread  over  the  country 
that  a  horde  of  Negroes  heavily  armed  were  approaching 
Hambright,  burning,  pillaging  and  murdering. 

All  day  terrified  women,  some  walking  with  babes  in 
their  arms,  some  riding  in  old  wagons  and  carrying  what 
household  goods  they  could  load  on  them,  were  hurrying 
with  blanched  faces  into  the  town. 

By  night  five  hundred  determined  white  men  had 
answered  an  alarm  bell  and  assembled  in  the  court 
house.  Every  Negro  save  a  few  faithful  servants  had 
disappeared.  A  strange  stillness  fell  over  the  village. 

Mrs.  Gaston  sat  in  her  house  without  a  light,  looking 
anxiously  out  of  the  window,  overwhelmed  with  the 
sense  of  helplessness.  Charlie,  frightened  by  the  wild 
stories  he  had  heard,  was  trying  in  spite  of  his  fears  to 
comfort  her. 

"Don't  cry,  Mamma!" 

"I'm  not  crying  because  I'm  afraid,  darling;  I'm  only 


The  Negro  Uprising  103 

crying  because  your  father  is  not  here  to-night.  I  can't 
get  used  to  living  without  him  to  protect  us." 

"I'll  take  care  of  you,  Mamma — Nelse  and  me." 

"Where  is  Nelse?" 

"He's  cleaning  up  the  shotgun." 

"Tell  him  to  come  here." 

When  Nelse  approached,  his  Mistress  asked: 

"Nelse,  do  you  really  think  this  tale  is  true?" 

"No,  Missy,  I  doan'  believe  nary  word  uf  it.  Same 
time  I'se  gettin'  ready  fur  'em.  Ef  er  nigger  come 
foolin'  roun'  dis  house  ter-night  he'll  run  ergin  er 
whole  regiment.  I  hain't  been  ter  wah  fur  nuttin'." 

"Nelse,  you  have  always  been  faithful.  I  trust  you 
implicitly." 

"De  Lawd,  Missy,  dat  you  kin  do.  I  fight  fur  you 
en  dat  boy  till  I  drap  dead  in  my  tracks." 

"I  believe  you  would." 

"Yessum,  cose  I  would.  En  I  wants  dat  swode  er 
Marse  Charles  to-night,  Missy,  en  Charlie  ter  help  me 
sharpen  'im  on  de  grinestone." 

She  took  the  sword  from  its  place  and  handed  it  to 
Nelse.  Was  there  just  a  shade  of  doubt  in  her  heart  as 
she  saw  his  black  hand  close  over  its  hilt  as  he  drew 
it  from  the  scabbard  and  felt  its  edge?  If  so  she 
gave  no  sign. 

Charlie  turned  the  grindstone  while  Nelse  proceeded 
to  violate  the  laws  of  nations  by  putting  a  keen  edge 
on  the  blade. 

"Nebber  seed  no  sense  in  dese  dull  swodes 
nohow." 

"Why  ain't  they  sharp,  Nelse?" 

"Doan'  know,  honey.  Marse  Charle  tell  me  de  law 
doan  'low  it,  but  dey  sho'  hain't  no  law  now." 

"We'll  sharpen  it,  won't  we,  Nelse?"  whispered  the 
boy,  as  he  turned  faster. 


104  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"Dat  us  will,  honey.  En  den  you  des  watch  me  mow 
niggers  ef  dey  come  er  prowlin'  round  dis  house." 

"Did  you  kill  many  Yankees  in  the  war,  Nelse?" 

"Doan'  know,  honey;  'spec  I  did." 

"Are  you  going  to  take  the  gun  or  the  sword?" 

"Bofe  um  'em,  chile.  I'se  gwine  ter  shoot  er  pair 
er  niggers  fust,  en  den  charge  de  whole  gang  wid  dis 
swode.  Hain't  nuttin'  er  nigger's  'feard  uf  lak  er  keen 
edge.  Wish  ter  God  I  had  a  razer  long  es  dis  swode. 
I'd  des  walk  clean  froo  er  whole  army  er  niggers  wid 
guns.  Man,  hit  'ud  des  natchelly  be  er  sight !  Day'd 
slam  dem  guns  down  en  bust  demselves  open  gittin' 
outen  my  way." 

When  the  sun  rose  next  morning  the  bodies  of  ten 
Negroes  lay  dead  and  wounded  in  the  road  about  a  mile 
outside  of  town.  The  pickets  thrown  out  in  every 
direction  had  discovered  their  approach  about  eleven 
o'clock.  They  were  allowed  to  advance  within  a  mile. 
There  were  not  more  than  two  hundred  in  the  gang, 
dozens  of  them  were  drunk,  and,  like  the  Sepoys  of 
India,  they  were  under  the  command  of  a  white 
scalawag.  At  the  first  volley  they  broke  and  fled  in 
wild  disorder.  Their  leader  managed  to  escape. 

This  event  cleared  the  atmosphere  for  a  few  weeks; 
and  the  people  breathed  more  freely  when  another 
company  of  army  regulars  marched  into  the  town  and 
camped  in  the  school  grounds  of  the  old  academy. 


CHAPTER  XV 
THE  NEW  CITIZEN  KING 

OF  all  the  elections  ever  conducted  by  the 
English-speaking  race,  the  one  held  under 
the  "Reconstruction"  act  of  1867  in  the 
South  was  the  most  unique. 

Ezra  Perkins,  the  Agent  of  the  Freedman's  Bureau, 
issued  a  windy  proclamation  to  the  new  citizens  to  come 
forward  on  a  certain  day  to  register  and  receive  their 
' '  elective  franchise. ' ' 

The  Negroes  poured  into  town  from  every  direction 
from  early  dawn.  Some  carried  baskets,  some  carried 
jugs,  and  some  were  pushing  wheelbarrows,  but  most  of 
them  had  an  empty  bag.  They  were  packed  around 
the  Agency  in  a  solid  black  mass. 

Nelse  laughed  until  a  crowd  gathered  around  him. 

"Lordy,  look  at  dem  bags !"  he  shouted.  "En  dar's 
ole  Ike  wid  er  jug.  He's  gwine  ter  take  hisen  in  licker. 
En  bress  God,  dar's  er  fool  wid  er  wheelbarer !"  Nelse 
lay  down  and  rolled  with  laughter. 

They  failed  to  see  the  joke,  and  when  the  Agency 
was  opened  they  made  a  break  for  the  door,  trampling 
each  other  down  in  a  rnad  fear  that  there  wouldn't  be 
enough  "elective  franchise"  to  go  round. 

The  first  Negro  who  emerged  from  the  door  came 
with  a  crestfallen  face  and  an  empty  bag  on  his  arm. 

He  was  surrounded  by  anxious    inquirers. 

"What  wuz  hit?" 

"Nuffin'.     Des  stan'  up   dar  befo'   er  man  wid  big 

105 


io6  The  Leopard's  Spots 

whiskers  en  he  make  me  swar  ter  export  de  Constertu- 
tion  er  de  Nunited  States  er  Nor'f  Calliny." 

When  Nelse  appeared  Perkins  looked  at  him  a  moment 
and  asked: 

"Are  you  a  member  of  the  Union  League?" 

"Dat  I  hain't." 

"Then  stand  aside  and  let  these  men  register.  If  you 
want  to  vote  you  had  better  join." 

Nelse  made  no  reply,  but  in  a  short  time  he  returned 
with  the  Reverend  John  Durham  by  his  side.  He  was 
allowed  to  register,  but  from  that  day  he  was  a  marked 
man  among  his  race. 

When  the  registration  closed  Perkins  was  in  high  glee. 

"We've  got  'em,  Timothy.  It's  a  dead  sure  thing!" 
he  cried,  as  he  slipped  his  arm  around  Tim's  shoulder. 

"Will  Ihe  majority  be  big?"  asked  Tim. 

"If  it  ain't  big  enough  we'll  disfranchise  more  aristo 
crats  and  enfranchise  the  dogs."  Tim  wondered 
whether  this  proposition  was  altogether  flattering. 

During  the  progress  of  the  campaign,  a  committee 
from  the  organisation  of  the  "truly  loyal,"  Ezra  Perkins 
and  Dave  Haley,  called  on  Tom  Camp. 

"Mr.  Camp,  we  want  your  help  as  a  leader  among  the 
poor  white  people  to  save  the  country  from  these  rebel 
aristocrats  who  have  ruined  it,"  said  Ezra. 

"You're  barkin'  up  the  wrong  tree  !"  answered  Tom, 
dryly. 

"The  poor  men  have  got  to  stand  together  now  and 
get  their  rights." 

"Well,  if  I've  got  to  stand  with  niggers,  have  'em 
hug  me  and  blow  their  breath  in  my  face,  as  you  fellers 
are  doin',  yon  can  count  me  out;  and  if  that's  all  you 
want  with  me,  you'll  find  the  door  open." 

Haley  tried  his  hand. 

"Look  here,  Camp,  we  ain't  got  no  hard  feelin's  agin 


The  New  Citizen  King  107 

you,  but  there's  ?.-goin'  to  be  trouble  for  every  rebel  in 
this  county  who  don't  git  on  our  side  and  do  it  quick."  \ 

"I'm  used  to  trouble,  pardner,"  replied  Tom. 

"You've  got  a  nice  little  cabin  home  and  ten  acres  of 
land.  Fight  us,  and  we  will  give  this  house  and  lot  to 
a  nigger." 

"I  don't  believe  it/    cried  Tom. 

"Come,  come,"  said  Perkins,  "you're  not  fool  enough 
to  fight  us  when  we've  got  a  dead  sure  thing,  a  majority 
fixed  before  the  voting  begins,  Congress  and  the  whole 
army  back  of  us?" 

"I  ain't  er  nigger,"  said  Tom,  doggedly. 

"What's  the  use  to  be  a  fool,  Camp,"  cried  Haley. 
"We  are  just  using  the  nigger  to  stick  the  votes  in  the 
box.  He  thinks  he's  goin'  to  heaven,  but  we'll  lide  him 
all  the  way  up  to  the  gate  and  hitch  him  on  the  outside. 
Will  you  come  in  with  us?" 

"Don't  like  your  complexion,"  he  answered,  rising 
and  going  toward  the  door. 

"Then  we'll  turn  you  out  into  the  road  in  less  than 
two  years,"  said  Haley  as  they  left. 

"All  right !"  laughed  the  old  soldier.  "I  slept  on  the 
ground  four  years,  boys." 

When  he  came  back  into  the  room  he  met  his  wife 
with  tears  in  her  eyes.  "  Oh,  Tom,  I'm  afraid  they'll 
do  what  they  say !  " 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,  ole  woman,  I'm  afraid  so,  too. 
But  we're  in  the  hands  of  the  Lord.  This  is  His  house. 
If  He  wants  to  take  it  away  from  me  now,  when  I'm 
crippled  and  helpless,  He  knows  what's  best." 

"  I  wish  you  didn't  have  to  go  agin  'em." 

"I  ain't  er  nigger,  ole  gal,  and  I  don't  flock  with 
niggers.  If  God  Almighty  had  meant  me  to  be  one 
He'd  have  made  my  skin  black." 

On  election  day  no  publication  of  the  polling  places 


io8  The  Leopard's  Spots 

had  been  made.  Ezra  Perkins  had  in  charge  the  whole 
county.  He  consolidated  the  fifteen  voting  precincts 
into  three  and  located  these  in  Negro  districts.  He 
notified  only  the  members  of  the  secret  Leagues  where 
these  three  voting  places  were  to  be  found,  and  other 
people  were  allowed  to  find  then  on  the  day  of  the 
election  as  best  they  could. 

Perkins  made  himself  the  poll-holder  at  Hambright, 
though  he  was  a  candidate  for  member  of  the  Constitu 
tional  Convention,  and  the  poll-holders  were  allowed 
to  keep  the  ballots  in  their  possession  for  three  days 
before  forwarding  to  the  general  in  command  at 
Charleston,  South  Carolina. 

Scores  of  Negroes,  under  the  instructions  of  their 
leaders,  voted  three  times  that  day.  Every  Negro  boy 
fairly  well  grown  was  allowed  to  vote  and  no  questions 
asked  as  to  his  age. 

Nelse  approached  the  polls,  attempting  to  cast  a  vote 
against  the  Reverend  Ezra  Perkins,  the  poll-holder. 
A  crowd  of  infuriated  negroes  surrounded  him  in  a 
moment. 

"  Kill  'im !  Knock  'im  in  the  head !  De  black  debbil . 
votin'  agin  his  colour!" 

Nelse  threw  his  big  fists  right  and  left  and  soon  had 
an  open  space  in  the  edge  of  which  lay  a  half-dozen 
Negroes  scrambling  to  get  to  their  feet. 

The  Negroes  formed  a  line  in  front  of  him  and  the 
foremost  one  said: 

"You  try  ter  put  dat  vote  in  de  box  we  bust  yo* 
head  open!" 

Nelse  knocked  him  down  before  he  got  the  words 
•well  out  of  his  mouth.  "Honey,  1'se  er  bad  nigger!" 
he  shouted  with  a  grin,  as  he  stepped  back  and  started 
to  rush  the  line. 

Perkins  ordered  the  guard  to  arrest  him. 


The  New  Citizen  King  109 

'  As  the  guard  carried  Nelse  away  a  crowd  of  angry 
Negroes  followed,  grinning  and  cursing. 

"We  lay  fur  you  yit,  ole  hoss!"  was  their  parting 
word  as  he  disappeared  through  the  jail  door. 

That  night  at  the  supper  table  in  the  hotel  at  Ham- 
bright  an  informal  census  of  the  voters  was  taken. 
There  were  present  at  the  table  a  distinguished  ex-judge, 
two  lawyers,  a  general,  two  clergymen,  a  merchant,  a 
farmer  and  two  mechanics.  The  only  man  of  all 
allowed  to  vote  that  day  was  the  Negro  who  waited 
on  the  table. 

Thus  began  the  era  of  a  corrupt  and  degraded  ballot  in 
the  South  that  was  to  bring  forth  sorrow  for  generations 
yet  unborn.  The  intelligence,  culture,  wealth,  social 
prestige,  brains,  conscience  and  the  historic  institutions 
of  a  great  state  had  been  thrust  under  the  hoof  of 
ignorance  and  vice. 

The  votes  were  sent  to  the  military  commandant  at 
Charleston  and  the  results  announced.  The  Negroes 
had  elected  one  hundred  and  ten  representatives  and 
the  whites  ten.  It  was  gravely  announced  from 
Washington  that  a  "republican  form  of  government'* 
had  at  last  been  established  in  North  Carolina. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
LEGREE   SPEAKER  OF  THE   HOUSE 

THE  new  government  was  now  in  full  swing  and 
a  saturnalia  began.  Amos  Hogg  was  Governor, 
Simon  Legree  Speaker  of  the  House,  and  the 
Honourable  Tim  Shelby  leader  of  the  majority  on  the 
floor  of  the  House. 

Raleigh,  the  quaint  little  City  of  Oaks,  never  saw 
such  an  assemblage  of  lawmakers  gathered  in  the 
gray  stone  Capitol. 

Ezra  Perkins,  who  was  a  member  of  the  Senate,  was 
frugal  in  his  habits,  and  found  lodgings  at  an  unpre 
tentious  boarding-house  near  the  Capitol  square. 

The  room  was  furnished  with  six  iron  cots  on  which 
were  placed  straw  mattresses,  and  six  honourable  mem 
bers  of  the  new  Legislature  occupied  these.  They  were 
close  enough  together  to  allow  a  bottle  of  whisky  to 
be  freely  passed  from  member  to  member  at  any  hour 
of  the  night.  They  thought  the  beds  were  arranged 
with  this  in  view  and  were  much  pleased. 

Ezra  was  the  only  man  in  the  crowd  who  arrived  in 
Raleigh  with  a  valise  or  trunk.  He  had  a  carpet-bag. 
The  others  simply  had  one  shirt  and  a  few  odds  and 
ends  tied  in  red  bandanna  handkerchiefs. 

Three  of  them  had  walked  all  the  way  to  Raleigh 
and  kept  in  the  woods  from  habit  as  deserters.  The 
other  two  rode  on  the  train  and  handed  their  tickets 
to  the  first  stranger  they  saw  on  the  platform  of  the 
car  they  boarded. 

no 


Legree  Speaker  of  the  House         in 

"What's  this  for?"  said  the  stranger. 

"Them's  our  tickets.     Ain't  you  the  doorkeeper?" 

"No;  but  there  ought  to  be  one  to  every  circus. 
You'll  have  one  when  you  get  to  Raleigh." 

The  landlady,  Mrs.  Duke,  apologised  for  the  poor 
beds  when  she  showed  them  to  their  room.  "I'm  sorry, 
gentlemen,  I  can't  give  you  softer  beds." 

"That's  all  right,  Ma'am;  them's  fine.  Us  fellows 
been  sleeping  in  the  woods  and  in  straw  stacks  so  long 
dodgin'  ole  Vance's  officers,  them  white  sheets  is  the 
finest  thing  we've  seed  in  four  years  er  more." 

They  were  humble  and  made  no  complaints.  But  at 
the  end  of  the  week  they  gathered  around  the  Rev 
erend  Ezra  Perkins  for  a  grave  consultation. 

"When  are  we  goin'  ter  draw?"  said  one. 

"Air  we  ever  goin'  ter  draw?  "  asked  another,  with 
sorrow  and  dcubt. 

"What  are  we  here  for  if  we  cain't  draw?  "  pleaded 
another,  looking  sadly  at  Ezra. 

"Gentlemen,"  answered  Ezra,  "it  will  be  all  right 
in  a  little  while.  The  Treasurer  is  just  cranky.  We 
can  draw  our  mileage  Monday,  anyhow." 

At  daylight  they  took  their  places  on  the  bank's 
steps,  and  at  ten  o'clock  when  the  bank  opened  the 
doors  were  besieged  by  a  mob  of  members  painfully 
anxious  to  draw  before  it  might  be  too  late. 

N'ext  morning  ^here  was  a  disturbance  at  the  break 
fast  table.  The  morning  paper  had  in  blazing  headlines 
an  account  of  one  James  "Mileage,"  who  was  a  member 
of  the  Legislature  from  an  adjoining  county  thirty- 
seven  miles  distant.  He  had  sworn  to  a  mileage  record 
of  one  hundred  and  seven  dollars. 

"That's  an  unfortunate  mistake,  sir,"  said  Perkins. 

"Ten*  ter  yer  own  business,"  answered  James 
"Mileage." 


The  Leopard's  Spots 

"I  call  it  er  purty  sharp  trick,"  broadly  grinned 
his  partner. 

"I  call  it  stealin',"  sneered  an  honourable  member, 
evidently  envious. 

And  James  "Mileage"  was  his  name  for  all,  time,  but 
"Mileage"  shot  a  malicious  look  at  the  member  who 
had  called  him  a  thief. 

The  next  morning  the  paper  of  the  opposition  had 
another  biographical  sketch  on  the  front  page. 

"I  see  your  name  in  the  paper  this  morning,  Mr. 
Scoggms?"  remarked  Mrs.  Duke,  looking  pleasantly 
at  the  member  who  had  spoken  so  rudely  to  James 
"Mileage"  the  day  before. 

"Well,  I  reckon  I'll  make  my  mark  down  here  before 
it's  over,"  chuckled  Scoggins,  with  pride.  "What  do 
they  say  about  me,  Ma'am?" 

"They  say  you  stole  a  lot  of  hogs!"  tittered  the 
landlady. 

Mr.  Scoggins  turned  red. 

"O-ho,  is  there  another  thief  in  this  hon'able 
body?"  sneered  James  "Mileage." 

"That's  all  a  lie,  Ma'am,  'bout  them  hogs.  I  didn't 
steal  'em.  I  just  pressed  'em  from  a  Secessiner." 

"Jes*  so,"  said  James  "Mileage";  "but  they  say  you 
were  a  deserter  at  the  time,  and  not  exactly  in  the 
service  of  your  country." 

"Ye  can't  pay  no  'tention  ter  rebel  lies  ergin  Union 
men,"  explained  Scoggins,  eating  faster. 

"Yes,  that's  so,"  said  James  "Mileage";  "but  there's 
another  funny  thing  in  the  paper  about  you." 

"What's  that?"  cried  Scoggins,  with  new  alarm. 

"That  Mr.  Scoggins  met  Sherman's  army  with  loud 
talk  about  lovin'  the  Union,  but  that  a  mean  Yankee 
officer  gave  him  a  cussin'  fur  not  fightin'  on  one  side  or 
the  other,  took  all  that  bacon  he  had  stolen,  hung  him 


Legree  Speaker  ot  the  House          113 

up  by  the  heels,  gave  him  thirty  lashes,  and  left  him 
hanging  in  the  air." 

"It's  a  lie!     It's  a  lie!"  bellowed  Scoggins. 

"  Gentlemen  !  Gentlemen  !  We  must  not  have  such 
behaviour  at  my  table  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Duke. 

And  "Hog"  Scoggins  was  his  name  from  that  day. 

By  the  end  of  the  week  another  painful  story  was 
printed  about  one  of  this  group  of  statesmen.  The 
newspaper  brutally  declared  that  he  had  been  convicted 
of  stealing  a  rawhide  from  a  neighbour's  tanyard. 
It  could  not  be  denied.  And  then  a  sad  thing  happened. 
The  moral  sentiment  of  the  little  community  could 
not  endure  the  strain.  It  suddenly  collapsed.  They 
laughed  at  these  incidents  of  the  sad  past  and  agreed 
that  they  were  jokes.  They  began  to  call  each  other 
James  "Mileage,"  "Hog"  Scoggins  and  "Rawhide" 
in  the  friendliest  way,  and  dared  a  scornful  world  to 
make  them  feel  ashamed  of  anything. 

But  the  Reverend  Ezra  Perkins  was  pained  by  this 
breakdown.  He  felt  that,  being  safely  removed  two 
thousand  miles  from  his  own  past,  he  might  hope  for 
a  future. 

"Mrs.  D-ike,"  he  complained  to  his  landlady,  "I  will 
have  to  a^:  you  to  give  me  a  room  to  myself.  I'll  pay 
double.  I  want  quiet,  where  I  can  read  my  Bible  and 
meditate  occasionally." 

"Certainly,  Mr.  Perkins,  if  you  are  willing  to  pay 
for  it." 

It  was  so  arranged.  But  this  assumption  of  moral 
superiority  by  Perkins  grieved  "Mileage,"  "Hog" 
and  "Rawhide,"  and  a  coolness  sprang  up  between 
them,  until  they  found  Ezra  one  night  in  his  place  of 
meditation  dead  drunk  and  his  room  on  fire.  He  had 
gone  to  sleep  in  his  chair  with  his  empty  bottle  by  his 
side  and  knocked  the  candle  over  on  the  bed.  Then 


ii4  The  Leopard's  Spots 

they  agreed  that  forever  after  they  would  all  stand 
together,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  until  they  brought  the 
haughty  low  and  exalted  the  lowly  and  the  "loyal." 

Tim  Shelby  early  distinguished  himself  in  this  august 
assemblage.  His  wit  and  eloquence  from  the  first 
commanded  the  admiration  of  his  party. 

When  he  had  fairly  established  himself  as  leader,  he 
rose  in  his  seat  one  day  with  unusual  gravity.  His 
scalp  was  working  his  ears  with  great  rapidity,  showing 
his  excitement. 

.He  had  in  his  hands  a  bill  on  which  he  had  spent 
months  in  secret  study.  He  had  not  even  hinted  its 
contents  to  any  of  his  associates.  Under  the  call  for 
bills  his  voice  rang  with  deep  emphasis. 

"Mr.  Speaker!" 

Legree   gave   him   instant   recognition. 

"I  desire  to  introduce  the  following:  'A  Bill  to  be 
Entitled  An  Act  to  Relieve  Married  Women  from  the 
Bonds  of  Matrimony  when  United  to  Felons,  and  to 
Define  Felony.'  " 

A  page  hurried  to  the  Reading  Clerk  with  his  bill. 

The  hum  of  voices  ceased.  The  five  or  six  represent 
atives  of  the  white  race  left  their  desks  and  walked 
toward  the  Speaker.  The  Clerk  read  in  a  clear  voice : 

"The  General  Assembly  of  North  Carolina  do  enact: 
.  "I.  That  all  citizens  of  the  State  who  took  part  in 
the  Rebellion  and  fought  against  the  Union,  or  held 
office  in  the  so-called  Confederate  States  of  America, 
shall  be  held  guilty  of  felony,  and  shall  be  forever 
debarred  from  voting  or  holding  office. 

"II.  That  the  married  relations  of  all  such  felons  are 
hereby  dissolved  and  their  wives  absolutely  divorced, 
and  said  felons  shall  be  forever  barred  from  con 
tracting  marriage  or  living  under  the  same  roof  with 
their  former  wives." 


Legree  Speaker  of  the  House         115 

Instantly  four  Carpet-bagger  members  of  some 
education  rushed  for  Tim's  seat.  "Withdraw  that 
bill,  man,  quick !  My  God,  are  you  mad !  "  they  all 
cried  in  a  breath. 

Tim  was  dazed  by  this  unexpected  turn  and  grinned 
in  an  obstinate  way. 

"I  can't  see  it,  gentlemen.  That  bill  will  kill  out  the 
breed  of  rebels  and  fix  the  status  of  every  Southern 
state  for  five  hundred  years.  It's  just  what  we  need  to 
make  this  state  loyal." 

"You  pass  that  bill  and  hell  will  break  loose!" 

"How  so,  brother?  Ain't  we  on  top  and  the  rebels 
on  the  bottom?  Ain't  tiie  army  here  to  protect  us?  " 
persisted  Tim. 

There  was  a  brief  consultation  among  the  little 
grbup  in  opposition,  and  the  leader  said: 

"Mr.  Speaker,  I  move  that  the  bill  be  at  once  printed 
and  laid  on  the  desk  of  the  members  for  consid 
eration." 

Tim  was  astonished  at  this  move  of  his  enemy. 
Legree  looked  at  him  and  waited  his  pleasure. 

"Mr.  Speaker,  I  withdraw  that  bill  for  the  present," 
he  said  at  length. 

That  night  the  wires  were  hot  between  Washington 
and  Raleigh  and  the  entire  power  of  Congress  was 
hurled  upon  the  unhappy  Tim.  His  bill  was  not  only 
suppressed,  but  the  news  agencies  were  threatened  and 
subsidised  to  prevent  accounts  of  its  introduction 
being  circulated  throughout  the  country. 

Tim  decided  to  lay  this  measure  over  until  Congress 
was  off  his  hands  and  the  state's  autonomy  fully 
recognised.  Then  he  would  dare  interference.  In  the 
meantime,  he  turned  his  great  mind  to  financial 
matters.  His  success  here  was  overwhelming. 

His  firs*,  measure  was  to  increase  the  per  diem  of  the 


n6  The  Leopard's  Spots 

members  from  three  to  seven  dollars  a  day.  It  passed 
with  a  whoop. 

Uncle  Pete  Sawyer,  a  coal-black,  fatherly  looking  old 
darky  from  an  eastern  county,  made  himself  immortal 
in  that  debate. 

"Mistah  Speakah!"  he  bawled,  drawing  himself  up 
with  great  dignity  and  holding  a  pen  in  his  left  hand 
as  though  he  had  been  writing.  "What  do  these  white 
gem'men  mean  by  ezposen'  this  bill  ?  Ef  we  doan'  pay 
de  members  enuf,  dey  des  be  erbleeged  ter  steal.  Hit 
ain't  right,  sah,  ter  fo'ce  de  members  er  dis  hon'able 
body  ter  prowl  atter  dark  when  day  otter  be  here 
'tendin*  ter  de  business  o'  de  country.  En  I  moves 
you,  sah,  Mistah  Speakah,  dat  dese  rema'ks  er  mine  be 
filed  in  de  arkibes  er  grabity !  " 

They  were  filed  and  embalmed  in  the  archives  of 
gravity,  where  they  will  remain  a  monument  to  their 
author  and  his  times. 

As  Tim's  great  financial  measures  made  progress,  the 
members  began  to  wear  better  clothes,  assumed  white 
linen  shirts,  had  their  shoes  blacked,  and  put  on  the  airs 
of  overworked  statesmen. 

When  they  had  used  up  all  the  funds  of  the  state  in 
mileage  and  per  diem,  they  sold  and  divided  the  school 
fund,  railroad  bonds  worth  half  a  million,  for  a  hundred 
thousand  ready  cash.  It  was  soon  found  that  Simon 
Legree,  the  Speaker  of  the  House,  was  the  master  of 
financial  measures  and  Tim  Shelby  was  his  mouthpiece. 

Legree  organised  three  groups  of  thieves,  composed 
of  the  officials  needed  to  perfect  the  thefts  in  every 
branch  of  the  government,  while  he  retained  the  leader 
ship  of  the  federated  groups.  The  Treasurer,  who  was 
an  honest  man,  was  stripped  of  power  by  a  special  act. 

The  Capitol  Ring  merely  picked  up  the  odds  and 
ends  about  the  Capitol  building.  They  refurnished  the 


begree  {Speaker  ot  the  House          117 

Legislative  Halls.  They  spent  more  than  two  hundred 
thousand  dollars  for  furniture,  and  when  it  was 
appraised  its  value  was  found  to  be  seventeen  thousand 
dollars  at  the  prices  they  actually  paid  for  it.  The  Ring 
stole  one  hundred  and  seventy  thousand  dollars  on 
this  item  alone. 

An  appropriation  of  three  hundred  thousand  dollars 
was  made  for  "supplies,  sundries  and  incidentals." 
With  this  they  built  a  booth  around  the  statue  of 
Washington  at  the  end  of  the  Capitol  and  established 
a  bar  with  fine  liquors  and  cigars  for  the  free  use  of  the 
members  and  their  friends.  They  kept  it  open  every 
day  and  night  during  their  reign,  and  in  a  suite  of 
rooms  in  the  Capitol  they  established  a  brothel.  From 
the  galleries  a  swarm  of  courtesans  daily  smiled  on 
their  favourites  on  the  floor. 

The  printing  had  never  cost  the  state  more  than  eight 
thousand  dollars  in  any  one  year.  This  year  it  cost 
four  hundred  and  eighty  thousand.  Legree  drew 
thousands  of  warrants  on  the  state  for  imaginary 
persons.  There  were  eight  pages  in  the  house.  He 
drew  pay  for  one  hundred  and  fifty-six  pages.  In 
this  way  he  raised  an  enormous  corruption  fund  for 
immediate  use  in  bribing  the  lawmakers  to  carry 
through  his  schemes. 

The  Railroad  Ring  was  his  most  effective  group  of 
brigands.  They  passed  bills  authorising  the  issue  of 
twenty-five  millions  of  dollars  in  bonds,  and  actually 
issued  and  stole  fourteen  millions  and  never  built 
one  foot  of  railroad. 

When  Legree's  movement  was  at  its  high  tide,  Ezra 
Perkins  sought  Uncle  Pete  Sawyer  one  night  in  behalf 
of  a  pet  measure  of  his  pending  in  the  House. 

Peter  was  seated  by  his  table,  counting  by  the  light 
of  a  candle  three  big  piles  of  gold. 


n8  The  Leopard's  Spots 

His  face  was  wreathed  in  smiles. 

"Peter,  you  seem  well  pleased  with  the  world 
to-night?  "  said  Ezra,  gleefully. 

"Well,  brudder,  you  see  dem  piles  er  yaller  money?  " 

"Yes.     It  is  a  fine  sight." 

Uncle  Pete  smacked  his  lips  and  grinned  from  ear 
to  ear. 

"Well,  brudder,  I  tells  you.  I  ben  sol'  seben  times 
in  my  life,  but  'fore  Gawd  dat's  de  fust  time  I  ebber 
got  de  ironey !  " 

Uncle  Pete  dreamed  that  night  that  Congress  passed 
a  law  extending  the  blessings  of  a  "republican  form  of 
government"  to  North  Carolina  for  forty  years  and 
that  the  Legislature  never  adjourned. 

But  the  Legislature  finally  closed,  and  in  a  drunken 
revel  which  lasted  all  night.  They  had  bankrupted  the 
state,  destroyed  its  school  funds  and  increased  its  debt 
from  sixteen  to  forty-two  millions  of  dollars  without 
adding  one  cent  to  its  wealth  or  power. 

Legree  then  organised  a  Municipal  and  County 
Ring  to  exploit  the  towns,  cities  and  counties, 
having  passed  a  bill  vacating  all  county  and  city 
offices. 

This  Ring  secured  the  control  of  Hambright  and 
levied  a  tax  of  twenty-five  per  cent,  for  municipal 
purposes !  Tom  Camp's  little  home  was  assessed  for 
eighty-five  dollars  in  taxes.  Mrs.  Gaston's  home 
was  assessed  for  one  hundred  and  sixty  dollars.  They 
could  have  raised  a  million  as  easily  as  the  sum  of 
these  assessments. 

It  cost  the  United  States  Government  two  hundred 
millions  of  dollars  that  year  to  pay  the  army  required 
to  guard  the  Legrees  and  their  "loyal"  men  while 
they  were  thus  establishing  and  maintaining  "a  repub 
lican  form  of  government"  in  the  South. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
THE  SECOND  REIGN  OF  TERROR 

IT  was  the  bluest  Monday  the  Reverend  John  Durham 
ever  remembered  in  his  ministry.  A  long  drought 
had  parched  the  corn  into  twisted  and  stunted 
little  stalks  that  looked  as  though  they  had  been  burnt 
in  a  prairie  fire.  The  fly  had  destroyed  the  wheat  crop 
and  the  cotton  was  dying  in  the  blistering  sun  of  August, 
and  a  blight  worse  than  drought,  or  flood,  or  pestilence 
brooded  over  the  land,  flinging  the  shadow  of  its  Black 
Death  over  every  home.  The  tax-gatherer  of  the  new 
"republican  form  of  government,"  recently  established 
in  North  Carolina,  now  demanded  his  pound  of  flesh. 

The  Sunday  before  had  been  a  peculiarly  hard  one 
for  the  Preacher.  He  had  tried  by  the  sheer  power  of 
personal  sympathy  to  lift  the  despairing  people  out 
of  their  gloom  and  make  strong  their  faith  in  God.  In 
his  morning  sermon  he  had  torn  his  heart  open  and 
given  them  its  red  blood  to  drink.  At  the  night  service 
he  could  not  rally  from  the  nerve  tension  of  the  morning. 
He  felt  that  he  had  pitiably  failed.  The  whole  day 
seemed  a  failure,  black  and  hopeless. 

All  day  long  the  sorrowful  stories  of  ruin  and  loss  of 
homes  were  poured  into  his  ear. 

The  Sheriff  had  advertised  for  sale  for  taxes  two 
thousand  three  hundied  and  twenty  homes  in  Campbell 
County.  The  land  under  such  conditions  had  no  value. 
It  was  only  a  formality  for  the  auctioneer  to  cry  it  and 
knock  it  down  for  the  amount  of  the  tax  bill. 

119 


120  The  Leopard's  Spots 

As  he  arose  from  bed  with  the  burden  of  all  this 
hopeless  misery  crushing  his  soul,  a  sense  of  utter 
exhaustion  and  loneliness  came  over  him. 

"My  love,  I  must  go  back  to  bed  and  try  to  sleep. 
I  lay  awake  last  night  until  two  o'clock.  I  can't  eat 
anything,"  he  said  to  his  wife  as  she  announced 
breakfast. 

"John,  dear,  don't  give  up  like  that." 

"Can't  help  it." 

"But  you  must.  Come,  here  is  something  that  will 
tone  you  up.  I  found  this  note  under  the  front  door 
this  morning." 

"What  is  it?" 

"A  notice  from  some  of  your  admirers  that  you 
must  leave  this  county  in  forty-eight  hours  or  take 
the  consequences." 

He  looked  at  this  anonymous  letter  and  smiled. 

"Not  such  a  failure  after  all,  am  I?  "  he  mused. 

"I  thought  that  would  help  you,"  she  laughed. 

"Yes  I  can  eat  breakfast  on  the  strength  of  that." 

He  spread  this  letter  out  beside  his  plate  and  read 
and  reread  it  as  he  ate,  while  his  eyes  flashed  with  a 
strange,  half -humourous  light. 

"Really,  that's  fine,  isn't  it?  'You  sower  of  sedition 
and  rebellion,  hypocrite  and  false  prophet.  The  day 
has  come  to  clean  this  county  of  treason  and  traitors. 
If  you  dare  to  urge  the  people  to  further  resistance  to 
authority  there  will  be  one  traitor  less  in  this  county.' 
That  sounds  like  the  voice  of  a  Daniel  come  to 
judgment,  don't  it?" 

"I  think  Ezra  Perkins  might  know  something  about 
it." 

"I  am  sure  of  it." 

"Well,  I'm  duly  grateful;  it's  done  for  you  what  your 
wife  couldn't  do — cheered  you  up  this  morning." 


The  Second  Reign  of  Terror          121 

"That  is  so,  isn't  it?  It  takes  a  violent  poison  some 
times  to  stimulate  the  heart's  action." 

"Now,  if  you  will  work  the  garden  for  me,  where  I've 
been  watering  it  the  past  month,  you  will  be  yourself 
by  dinner  time." 

"  I  will.  That's  about  all  we've  got  to  eat.  I've  had 
no  salary  in  two  months  and  I've  no  prospects  for  the 
next  two  months." 

He  was  at  work  in  the  garden  when  Charlie  Gaston 
suddenly  ran  through  the  gate  toward  him.  His  face 
was  red,  his  eyes  streaming  with  tears  and  his  breath 
coming  in  gasps. 

"Doctor,  they've  killed  Nelse  !  Mamma  says  please 
come  down  to  our  house  as  quick  as  you  can." 

"Is  he  dead,  Charlie?" 

"He's  'most  dead.  I  found  him  down  in  the  woods 
lying  in  a  gulley :  one  leg  is  broken,  there's  a  big  gash  over 
his  eye,  his  back  is  beat  to  a  jelly  and  one  of  his  arms 
is  broken.  We  put  him  in  the  wagon  and  hauled  him 
to  the  house.  I'm  afraid  he's  dead  now.  Oh,  me!" 
The  boy  broke  down  and  choked  with  sobs. 

"Run,  Charlie,  for  the  doctor,  and  I'll  be  there  in  a 
minute." 

The  boy  flew  through  the  gate  to  the  doctor's 
house. 

When  the  Preacher  reached  Mrs.  Gaston's  Aunt  Eve 
was  wiping  the  blood  from  Nelse's  mouth. 

"  De  Lawd  hab  mussy !     My  po'  ole  man's  done  kilt." 

"Who  could  have  done  this,  Eve?" 

"Dem  Union  Leaguers.  Dey  say  dey  wuz  gwine  ter 
kill  him  fur  not  j'inin'  'em  en  fur  tryin*  ter  vote  ergin 
'em." 

"I've  been  afraid  of  it,"  sighed  the  Preacher  as  he 
felt  Nelse's  pulse. 

"  Yassir,  en  now  dey's  done  hit.     My  po'  ole  man.     I 


122  The  Leopard's  Spots 

wish  I'd  a-been  better  ter  'im.  Lawd  Jesus,  help  me 
now!" 

Eve  knelt  by  the  bed  and  laid  her  face  against  Nelse's 
while  the  tears  rained  down  her  black  face. 

"Aunt  Eve,  it  may  not  be  so  bad,"  said  the  Preacher, 
hopefully.  "His  pulse  is  getting  stronger.  He  has  an 
iron  constitution.  I  believe  he  will  pull  through,  if 
there  are  no  internal  injuries." 

"  Praise  God  !  Ef  he  do  git  well,  I  tell  yer  now,  Marse 
John,  I  fling  er  spell  on  dem  niggers  'bout  dis  !" 

"I  am  afraid  you  can  do  nothing  with  them.  The 
courts  are  all  in  the  hands  of  these  scoundrels  and  the 
Governor  of  the  state  is  at  the  head  of  the  Leagues." 

"I  doan'  want  no  cotes,  Marse  John,  I'se  cote  ennuf. 
I  kin  cunjure  dem  niggers  widout  any  cote." 

The  doctor  pronounced  his  injuries  dangerous  but 
not  necessarily  fatal.  Charlie  and  Dick  watched  with 
Eve  that  night  until  nearly  midnight.  Nelse  opened 
his  eyes  and  saw  the  eager  face  of  the  boy,  his  eyes 
yet  red  from  crying. 

"I  ain't  dead,  honey!"  he  moaned. 

"Oh!  Nelse,  I'm  so  glad!" 

"Doan'  you  believe  I  gwine  die.  I  gwine  ter  git  eben 
wid  dem  niggers  'fore  I  leab  dis  worl'." 

Nelse  spoke  feebly,  but  there  was  a  way  about  his 
saying  it  that  boded  no  good  to  his  enemies,  and  Eve 
was  silent.  As  Nelse  improved,  Eve's  wrath  steadily 
rose. 

The  next  day  she  met  in  the  street  one  of  the 
Negroes  who  had  threatened  Nelse. 

"How's  Mistah  Gaston  dis  mawnin',  Ma'am?"  he 
asked. 

Without  a  word  of  warning  she  sprang  on  him  like  a 
tigress,  bore  him  to  the  ground,  grasped  him  by  the 
throat  and  pounded  his  head  against  a  stone.  She 


The  Second  Reign  of  Terror          123 

would  have  choked  him  to  death  had  not  a  man  who 
was  passing  come  to  the  rescue. 

"Lemme  'lone,  man;  I'se  doin'  de  wuk  er  God." 
"You're  committing  murder,  woman." 
When  the  Negro  got  up  he  jumped  the  fence  and 
tore  down  through  a  cornfield  as  though  pursued  by  a 
hundred  devils,  now  and  then  glancing  over  his  shoulder 
to  see  if  Eve  were  after  him. 

The  Preacher  tried  in  vain  to  bring  the  perpetrators 
of  this  outrage  on  Nelse  to  justice.  He  identified  six 
of  them  positively.  They  were  arrested,  and  when 
put  on  trial  immediately  discharged  by  the  judge,  who 
was  himself  a  member  of  the  League  that  had  ordered 
Nelse  whipped. 

Tom  Camp's  daughter  was  now  in  her  sixteenth  year, 
and  as  plump  and  winsome  a  lassie,  her  Scotch  mother 
declared,  as  the  Lord  ever  made.  She  was  engaged  to 
be  married  to  Hose  Norman,  a  gallant  poor  white  from 
the  high  hill  country  at  the  foot  of  the  mountains. 
Hose  came  to  see  her  every  Sunday,  riding  a  black  mule, 
gaily  trapped  out  in  martingales  with  red  rings,  double 
girths  to  his  saddle  and  a  flaming  red  tassel  tied  on 
each  side  of  the  bridle.  Tom  was  not  altogether 
pleased  with  his  future  son-in-law.  He  was  too  wild, 
went  to  too  many  frolics,  danced  too  much,  drank  too 
much  whisky,  and  was  too  handy  with  a  revolver. 

"Annie,  child,  you'd  better  think  twice  before  you 
step  off  with  that  young  buck,"  Tom  gravely  warned 
his  daughter  as  he  stroked  her  fair  hair  one  Sunday 
morning  while  she  waited  for  Hose  to  escort  her  to 
church. 

"I  have  thought  a  hundred  times,  Paw,  but  what's 
the  use.  I  love  him.  He  can  just  twist  me  round  his 
little  finger.  I've  got  to  have  him." 


124  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"Tom  Camp,  you  don't  want  to  forget  you  were 
not  a  saint  when  I  stood  up  with  you  one  day,"  cried 
his  wife,  with  a  twinkle  in  her  eye. 

"That's  a  fact,  ole  woman,"  grinned  Tom. 

"You  never  give  me  a  day's  trouble  after  I  got  hold 
of  you.  Sometimes  the  wildest  colts  make  the  safest 
horses." 

"Yes,  that's  so.  It's  owing  to  who  has  the  breaking 
of  "em,"  thoughtfully  answered  Tom. 

"I  like  Hose.  He's  full  of  fun,  but  he'll  settle  down 
and  make  her  a  good  husband." 

The  girl  slipped  close  to  her  mother  and  squeezed  her 
hand. 

"Do  you  love  him  much,  child?"  asked  her  father. 

"Well  enough  to  live  and  scrub  and  work  for  him 
and  to  die  for  him,  I  reckon." 

"All  right,  that  settles  it;  you're  too  many  for  me, 
you  and  Hose  and  your  Maw.  Get  ready  for  it  quick. 
We'll  have  the  weddin'  Wednesday  night.  This  home 
is  goin'  to  be  sold  Thursday  for  taxes,  and  it  will  be  our 
last  night  under  our  own  roof.  We'll  make  the  best 
of  it." 

It  was  so  fixed.  On  Wednesday  night  Hose  came 
down  from  the  foothills  with  three  kindred  spirits,  and 
an  old  fiddler  to  make  the  music.  He  wanted  to  have 
a  dance  and  plenty  of  liquor  fresh  from  the  mountain- 
dew  district.  But  Tom  put  his  foot  down  on  it. 

"No  dancin'  in  my  house,  Hose,  and  no  licker,"  said 
Tom,  with  emphasis.  "I'm  a  deacon  in  the  Baptist 
church.  I  used  to  be  young  and  as  good  lookin'  as  you, 
my  boy,  but  I've  done  with  them  things.  You're  goin' 
to  take  my  little  gal  now.  I  want  you  to  quit  your 
foolishness  and  be  a  man." 

"I  will,  Tom,  I  will.  She  is  the  prettiest,  sweetest 
little  thing  in  this  world,  and  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I'm 


The  Second  Reign  of  Terror          125 

goin'  to  settle  right  down  now  to  the  hardest  work  I 
ever  did  in  my  life." 

"That's  the  way  to  talk,  my  boy,'  said  Tom,  putting 
his  hand  on  Hose's  shoulder.  "You'll  have  enough  to 
do  these  hard  times  to  make  a  livin'." 

They  made  a  handsome  picture  in  that  humble  home, 
as  they  stood  there  before  the  Preacher.  The  young 
bride  was  trembling  from  head  to  foot  with  fright.  Hose 
was  trying  to  look  grave  and  dignified,  and  grinning  in 
spite  of  himself  whenever  he  looked  into  the  face  of  his 
blushing  mate.  The  mother  was  standing  near,  her 
face  full  of  pride  in  her  daughter's  beauty  and  happiness, 
her  heart  all  a-quiver  with  the  memories  of  her  own 
wedding  day  seventeen  years  before.  Tom  was  thinking 
of  the  morrow,  when  he  would  be  turned  out  of  his 
home,  and  his  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

The  Reverend  John  Durham  had  pronounced  them 
man  and  wife  and  hurried  away  to  see  some  people  who 
were  sick.  The  old  fiddler  was  doing  his  best.  Hose 
and  his  bride  were  shaking  hands  with  their  friends, 
and  the  boys  were  trying  to  tease  the  bridegroom  with 
hoary  old  jokes. 

Suddenly  a  black  shadow  fell  across  the  doorway. 
The  fiddle  ceased,  and  every  eye  was  turned  to  the  door. 
The  burly  figure  of  a  big  Negro  trooper  from  a  company 
stationed  in  the  town  stood  before  them.  His  face  was 
in  a  broad  grin,  and  his  eyes  bloodshot  with  whisky. 
He  brought  his  musket  down  on  the  floor  with  a  bang. 

"My  frien's,  I'se  sorry  ter  disturb  yer,  but  I  has 
orders  ter  search  dis  house." 

"Show  your  orders,"  said  Tom,  hobbling  before  him. 

"Well,  dere's  one  un  'em!"  he  said,  still  grinning  as 
he  cocked  his  gun  and  presented  it  toward  Tom.  "En. 
ef  dat  ain't  ennuf ,  dey's  fifteen  mo'  stan'in'  'roun'  dis 
house.  It's  no  use  ter  make  er  fuss.  Come  on,  boys !" 


126  The  Leopard's  Spots 

Before  Tom  could  utter  another  word  of  protest  six 
more  Negro  troopers,  laughing  and  nudging  one  another, 
crowded  into  the  room.  Suddenly  one  of  them  threw  a 
bucket  of  water  in  the  fireplace  where  a  pine  knot 
blazed,  and  two  others  knocked  out  the  candles. 

There  was  a  scuffle,  the  quick  thud  of  heavy  blows, 
and  Hose  Norman  fell  to  the  floor  senseless.  A  piercing 
scream  rang  from  his  bride  as  she  was  seized  in  the 
arms  of  the  Negro  who  first  appeared.  He  rapidly 
bore  her  toward  the  door,  surrounded  by  the  six 
scoundrels  who  had  accompanied  him. 

"My  God,  save  her!  They  are  draggin'  Annie  out 
of  the  house,"  shrieked  her  mother. 

"Help!  Lord  have  mercy!"  screamed  the  girl,  as 
they  bore  her  away  toward  the  woods,  still  laughing 
and  yelling. 

Tom  overtook  one  of  them,  snatched  his  wooden  leg 
off,  and  knocked  him  down.  Hose's  mountain  boys 
were  crowding  round  Tom  with  their  pistols  in  their 
hands. 

"What  shall  we  do,  Tom?  If  we  shoot  we  may  kill 
Annie." 

"Shoot,  men!  My  God,  shoot!  There  are  things 
worse  than  death!" 

They  needed  no  urging.  Like  young  tigers  they 
sprang  across  the  orchard  toward  the  woods  whence 
came  the  sound  of  the  laughter  of  the  Negroes. 

"Stop  de  screechin'!"  cried  the  leader. 

"She  nebber  get  dat  gag  out  now." 

"Too  smart  fur  de  po'  white  trash  dis  time  sho'!" 
laughed  one. 

Three  pistol  shots  rang  out  like  a  single  report.  Three 
more !  and  three  more !  There  was  a  wild  scramble. 
Taken  completely  by  surprise,  the  Negroes  fled  in 
confusion.  Four  lay  on  the  ground.  Two  were  dead, 


The  Second  Reign  of  Terror          127 

one  mortally  wounded,  and  three  more  had  crawled 
away  with  bullets  in  their  bodies.  There  in  the  midst 
of  the  heap  lay  the  unconscious  girl,  gagged. 

"Is  she  hurt?"  cried  a  mountain  boy. 

"Can't  tell;  take  her  to  the  house,  quick." 

They  laid  her  across  the  bed  in  the  room  that  had 
been  made  sweet  and  tidy  for  the  bride  and  groom. 
The  mother  bent  over  her  quickly  with  a  light.  Just 
where  the  blue  veins  crossed  in  her  delicate  temple 
there  was  a  round  hole  from  which  a  scarlet  stream 
was  running  down  her  white  throat. 

Without  a  word  the  mother  brought  Tom,  showed 
it  to  him,  and  then  fell  into  his  arms  and  burst  into  a 
flood  of  tears. 

"Don't;  don't  cry  so,  Annie.  It  might  have  been 
worse.  Let  us  thank  God  she  was  saved  from  them 
brutes." 

Hose's  friends  crowded  round  Tom  with  tear- 
stained  faces. 

"Tom,  you  don't  know  how  broke  up  we  all  are  over 
this.  Poor  child,  we  did  the  best  we  could." 

"It's  all  right,  boys.  You've  been  my  friends  to 
night.  You've  saved  my  little  gal.  I  want  to  shake 
hands  with  you  and  thank  you.  If  you  hadn't  been 

here My  God,  I  can't  think  of  what  would  'a* 

happened!  Now  it's  all  right.  She's  safe  in  God's 
hands." 

The  next  morning,  when  Tom  Camp  called  at  the 
parsonage  to  see  the  Preacher  and  arrange  for  the 
funeral  of  his  daughter,  he  found  him  in  bed. 

"Doctor  Durham  is  quite  sick,  Mr.  Camp,  but  he'll 
see  you,"  said  Mrs.  Durham. 

"Thank  you,  Ma'am." 

She  took  the  old  soldier  by  the  hand  and  her  voice 
choked  as  she  said; 


128  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"You  have  my  heart's  deepest  sympathy  in  youi 
awful  sorrow." 

"It'll  be  all  for  the  best,  Ma'am.  The  Lord  gave  and 
the  Lord  has  taken  away.  I  will  still  say,  Blessed  is 
the  name  of  the  Lord." 

"I  wish  I  had  such  faith."  She  led  Tom  into  the 
room  where  the  Preacher  lay. 

"Why,  what's  this,  Preacher?  A  bandage  over  your 
eye;  looks  like  somebody  knocked  you  in  the  head?" 

"Yes,  Tom;  but  it's  nothing.  I'll  be  all  right  by 
to-morrow.  You  needn't  tell  me  anything  that  happened 
at  your  house.  I've  heard  the  black  hell-lit  news. 
It  will  be  all  over  this  county  by  night  and  the  town 
will  be  full  of  grim-visaged  men  before  many  hours. 
Your  child  has  not  died  in  vain.  A  few  things  like 
this  will  be  the  trumpet  of  the  God  of  our  fathers  that 
will  call  the  sleeping  manhood  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race 
to  life  again.  I  must  be  up  and  about  this  afternoon 
to  keep  down  the  storm.  It  is  not  time  for  it  to  break." 

"But,  Preacher,  what  happened  to  you?" 

"Oh,  nothing  much,  Tom." 

"I'll  tell  you  what  happened,"  cried  Mrs.  Durham, 
standing  erect,  with  her  great  black  eyes  flashing 
with  anger. 

"As  he  came  home  last  night  from  a  visit  to  the  sick, 
he  was  ambushed  by  a  gang  of  Negroes  led  by  a  white 
scoundrel,  knocked  down,  bound  and  gagged  and  placed 
on  a  pile  of  dry  fence  rails.  They  set  fire  to  the  pile 
and  left  him  to  burn  to  death.  It  attracted  the  attention 
of  Doctor  Graham,  who  was  passing.  He  got  to  him  in 
time  to  save  him." 

"You  don't  say  so!" 

"I'm  sorry,  Tom,  I'm  so  weak  I  couldn't  come  to  see 
you.  I  know  your  poor  wife  is  heart-broken." 

"Yes,  sir,  she  is;  and  it  cuts  me  to  the  quick  when 


The  Second  Reign  of  Terror         129 

I  think  that  I  gave  the  orders  to  the  boys  to  shoot. 
But,  Preacher,  I'd  'a'  killed  her  with  my  own  hand  if 
I  couldn't  'a*  saved  her  no  other  way.  I'd  do  it  over 
again  a  thousand  times  if  I  had  to." 

"I  don't  blame  you;  I'd  have  done  the  same  thing. 
I  can't  come  to  see  you  to-day,  Tom.  I'll  be  down  to 
your  house  to-morrow  a  few  minutes  before  we  start  for 
the  cemetery.  I  must  get  up  for  dinner  and  prevent 
the  men  from  attacking  these  troops.  They'll  net  dare 
to  try  to  sell  your  place  to-day.  The  public  square  is 
full  of  men  now,  and  it's  only  nine  o'clock.  You  go 
home  and  cheer  up  your  wife.  How  is  Hose  ? " 

"He's  still  in  bed.  The  Doctor  says  his  skull  is 
broken  in  one  place,  but  he'll  be  over  it  in  a  few  weeks." 

Tom  hobbled  back  to  his  house,  shaking  hands  with 
scores  of  silent  men  on  the  way. 

The  Preacher  crawled  to  his  desk  and  wrote  this  note 
to  the  young  officer  in  command  of  the  post; 

"  My  Dear  Captain:  In  the  interest  of  peace  and 
order  I  would  advise  you  to  telegraph  to  Independence 
for  two  companies  of  white  regulars  to  come 
immediately  on  a  special,  and  that  you  start  your 
Negro  troops  on  double-quick  marching  order  to 
meet  them.  There  will  be  a  thousand  armed  men 
in  Hambright  by  sundown,  and  no  power  on  earth 
can  prevent  the  extermination  of  that  Negro 
company  if  they  attack  them.  I  will  do  my  best  to 
prevent  further  bloodshed,  but  I  can  do  nothing  if 
these  troops  remain  here  to-day.  Respectfully, 

"JOHN  DURHAM." 

The  Commandant  acted  on  the  advice  immediately. 

•  ••••»• 

It  was  the  week  following  before  the  sales  began. 


130  The  Leopard's  Spots 

There  was  no  help  for  it.  The  town  and  the  county 
were  doomed  to  a  ruin  more  complete  and  terrible  than 
the  four  years  of  war  had  brought.  Independence  had 
been  saved  by  a  skilful  movement  of  General  Worth, 
who  sought  an  interview  with  Legree  when  his  council 
first  issued  their  levy  of  thirty  per  cent,  for  municipal 
purposes. 

"Mr.  Legree,  let's  understand  one  another,"  said  the 
General. 

"All  right;  I'm  a  man  of  reason." 

"A  bird  in  the  hand  is  worth  two  in  the  bush." 

"Every  time,  General." 

"Well,  call  off  your  dogs  and  rescind  your  order  for 
a  thirty  per  cent,  tax  levy  and  I '11' raise  $30,000  in  cash 
and  pay  it  to  you  in  two  days." 

"Make  it  $50,000  and  it's  a  bargain." 

"Agreed." 

The  General  raised  twenty  thousand  in  the  city,  went 
North  and  borrowed  the  remaining  thirty  thousand. 

Legree  and  his  brigands  received  this  ransom  and 
moved  on  to  the  next  town. 

Poor  Hambright  was  but  a  scrawny  little  village  on  a 
red  hill,  with  no  big  values  to  be  saved  and  no  mills  to 
interest  the  commercial  world,  and  the  auctioneer  lifted 
his  hammer. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
THE  RED  FLAG  OF  THE  AUCTIONEER 

THE   excitement  through  which  Tom  Camp  had 
passed  in  the  death  of  his  daughter,  and  the 
stirring  events  connected  with  it,  had  been  more 
than    his    feeble    body    could    endure.     He    had   been 
stricken  with  paroxysms  of  pain  and  nausea  from  his 
old  wounds.     For  three  days  and  nights  he  had  suffered 
unspeakable    agonies.     He   had   borne   his   pain   with 
stoical  indifference. 

"Tom,  old  man,  do  look  at  me!     You  skeer  me," 
said  his  wife,  leaning  tenderly  over  him. 
"Oh!  I'm  all  right,  Annie." 
"What  were  you  studyin'  about  then?" 
"  I  was  just  a  thinkin'  we  didn't  kill  babies  in  the  war. 
Them  was  awful  times,  but  they  wuz  nothin*  to  what 
we're  goin'  through  now.     The  Lord  knows  best,  but  I 
can't  understand  it." 

"Well,  don't  talk  any  more.     You're  too  weak." 
"I  must  git  up,  Annie.       Got  to  git  out    anyhow. 
The  Sheriff's  goin'  to  sell  us  out  to-day,  and  I  want  to 
sorter  look  'round  once  before  we  go." 

So,  leaning  on  his  wife's  arm,  he  hobbled  around  the 
place,  saying  good-by  to  its  familiar  objects.  They 
stopped  before  the  garden  gate. 

"Don't  go  in  there,  Tom;  I  can't  staad  it,"  cried  his 
wife.  "When  I  think  of  leavin'  that  garden  I've  worked 
so  hard  on  all  these  years,  and  that's  give  us  so  many 


132  The  Leopard's  Spots 

good  things  to  eat,  and  never  failed  us  the  year  round, 
1  just  feel  like  it'll  tear  my  heart  out." 

"Do  you  mind  the  day  we  set  out  these  trees,  Annie, 
an'  you,  my  own  purty  gal,  holdin'  em  fur  me  while  I 
•packed  the  dirt  around  'em,  and  told  you  how  sweet  you 
wuz?" 

"Yes,  and  I  love  every  twig  of  'em.  They've  all 
helped  me  in  times  of  need.  It's  hard  to  give  it  up !" 
She  couldn't  keep  back  the  tears. 

"Well,  now,  ole  woman,  you  musn't  break  down. 
You're  strong  and  well,  and  I'm  all  shot  to  pieces  and 
crippled  and  no  'count.  But  the  Lord  still  lives.  We'll 
get  this  place  back.  The  Lord's  just  trying  our  faith. 
He  thinks  mebbe  I'll  give  up." 

"You  think  we  can  ever  get  it  back?" 

"General  Worth  sent  me  word  he  couldn't  do  any 
thing  now,  but  to  let  it  go  and  keep  a  stiff  upper  lip. 
The  General  ain't  no  fool." 

"Surely  the  Lord  can't  let  us  starve." 

"Starve!  I  reckon  not.-  The  foxes  have  holes,  the 
birds  of  the  air  nests,  but  the  Son  of  Man  had  not  where 
to  lay  His  head,  but  He  never  starved.  No,  God's  in 
heaven.  I'll  trust  Him." 

A  mocking-bird  whose  mate  had  just  built  her  nest  to 
rear  a  second  brood  for  the  season  was  seated  on  the 
topmost  branch  of  a  cedar  near  the  house  and  singing 
as  though  he  would  fill  heaven  and  earth  with  the  glory 
of  his  love. 

"Just  listen  at  that  bird,  Tom!"  whispered  his  wife. 

"He  does  sing  sweet,  don't  he?" 

"  Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear,  how  can  I  give  it  all  up  !  I've  fed 
that  bird  and  his  mate  for  years.  He  knows  my  voice. 
I  can  call  him  down  out  of  that  tree.  Many  a  night  when 
you  were  away  in  the  war  he  sat  close  to  my  window 
and  sang  softly  to  me  all  night.  When  I'd  wake,  I'd 


The  Red  Flag  of  the  Auctioneer       133 

hear  him  singin'  low  like  he  was  afraid  he'd  wake 
somebody.  I'd  sit  down  there  by  the  window  and  cry  for 
you  and  dream  of  your  comin'  home  till  he'd  sing  me  to 
sleep  in  the  chair.  And  now  we've  got  to  leave  him. 
Lord,  my  heart  is  broken!  I  can't  see  the  way!" 

She  buried  her  face  on  Tom's  shoulder  and  shook 
with  sobs. 

"Hush,  hush,  honey;  we  must  face  trouble.  We  are 
used  to  it." 

"But  not  this,  Tom.  It'll  tear  my  heart  out  when  I 
have  to  leave." 

"It  can't  be  helped,  Annie.  We've  got  to  pay  for 
this  nigger  government." 

Eleven  o'clock  was  the  hour  fixed  for  the  sale.  At 
half-past  ten  a  crowd  of  Negroes  had  gathered.  There 
were  only  two  or  three  white  men  present,  the  Agent  of 
the  Freedman's  Bureau  and  some  of  his  henchmen. 

They  began  to  inspect  the  place.  Tim  Shelby  was 
present,  dressed  in  a  suit  of  broadcloth  and  a  silk  hat 
placed  jauntily  on  his  close-cropped  scalp. 

"That's  a  fine  orchard,  gentlemen,"  Tim  ex 
claimed. 

"Yes,  en  dat's  er  fine  gyarden,"  said  a  Negro  standing 
near. 

"Let's  look  at  the  house,"  said  Tim,  starting  to  the 
door. 

Tom  stood  up  in  the  doorway  with  a  musket  in  his 
hand.  "Put  your  foot  on  that  doorstep  and  I'll  blow 
your  brains  out,  you  flat-nosed  baboon!" 

Tirn  paused  and  bowed  with  a  smile. 

"Ain't  the  premises  for  sale,  Mr.  Camp?" 

"Yes;  but  my  family  ain't  for  inspection  by  niggers." 

"Just  wanted  to  see  the  condition  of  the  house,  sir," 
said  Tim,  still  smiling. 

"Well,  I'm  livin'  here  yet,  and  don't  you  forget  it," 


134  The  Leopard's  Spots 

answered  Tom,  with  quiet  emphasis.  Tim  walked  away, 
laughing. 

Tom  stepped  out  of  the  house,  and  with  his  wooden 
leg  marked  a  dead-line  around  the  house  about  ten  feet 
from  each  corner.  To  the  crowd  that  stood  near  he 
said  in  a  clear,  ringing  voice  as  he  stood  up  in  the 
doorway : 

"I'll  kill  the  first  nigger  that  crosses  that  line." 

There  was  no  attempt  to  cross  it.  They  did  not  like 
the  look  of  Tom's  face  as  he  sat  there  pale  and  silent. 
And  they  could  hear  the  sobs  of  his  wife  inside. 

The  sale  was  a  brief  formality.  There  was  but  one 
bidder,  the  Honourable  Tim  Shelby.  It  was  knocked 
down  to  Tim  for  the  sum  of  eighty-five  dollars,  the  exact 
amount  of  the  tax  levy  which  Legree  and  his  brigands 
had  fixed. 

Tim  was  not  buying  on  his  own  account.  He  was  the 
purchasing  agent  of  the  subsidiary  ring  which  Legree 
had  organised  to  hold  the  real  estate  forfeited  for  taxes 
until  a  rise  in  value  would  bring  them  millions  of  profit. 
They  had  stolen  from  the  state  Treasury  the  money  to 
capitalise  this  company.  Where  it  was  possible  to  exact 
a  cash  ransom,  they  always  took  it  and  cancelled  the 
tax  order,  preferring  the  certainty  of  good  gold  in  their 
pockets  to  the  uncertainties  of  politics. 

They  tried  their  best  to  get  a  cash  ransom  of  ten 
thousand  dollars  for  the  town  of  Hambright,  but  the 
ruined  people  could  not  raise  a  thousand.  So  Tim 
Shelby,  as  the  agent  of  the  "Union  Land  and  Improve 
ment  Company,"  became  the  owner  of  farm  after  farm 
,  and  home  after  home. 

It  was  a  vain  hope  that  relief  could  come  from  any 
quarter.  The  red  flag  of  the  Sheriff's  auctioneer  flut 
tered  from  two  thousand  three  hundred  and  twenty 
doors  in  the  county.  This  was  more  than  two-thirds  of 


The  Red  Flag  of  the  Auctioneer       135 

the  total.  Those  who  had  saved  just  escaped  by  the  skin 
of  their  teeth.  They  sold  old  jewelry  or  plate  that  had 
been  hidden  in  the  war,  or  they  sold  their  corn  and 
provisions,  trusting  to  their  ability  to  live  on  dried  fruit, 
berries,  walnuts,  hickory  nuts,  and  such  winter  vegetables 
as  they  could  raise  in  their  gardens. 

The  Preacher  secured  for  Tom  a  tumbledown  log 
cabin  on  the  outskirts  of  town,  with  a  half -acre  of  poor 
red  hill  land  around  it,  which  his  wife  at  once  trans 
formed  into  a  garden.  She  took  up  the  bulbs  and 
flowers  that  she  had  tended  so  lovingly  about  the  door 
of  their  old  home  and  planted  them  with  tears  around 
this  desolate  cabin.  Now  and  then  she  would  look 
down  at  the  work  and  cry.  Then  she  would  go  bravely 
back  to  it.  As  nobody  occupied  her  old  home,  she  went 
back  and  forth  until  she  moved  all  the  jonquils  and  sweet 
pinks  from  the  borders  of  the  garden  walk  and  reset 
them  in  the  new  garden.  She  then  moved  her  straw 
berries,  and  raspberries,  and  gooseberries,  and  set  her 
fall  cabbage  plants.  In  three  weeks  she  had  transformed 
a  desolate  red  clay  lot  into  a  smiling  garden.  She  had 
watered  every  plant  daily,  and  Tom  had  watched  her 
with  growing  wonder  and  love 

"  Ole  woman,  you're  an  angel!"  he  cried.  "If  God 
had  sent  one  down  from  the  skies  she  couldn't  have 
done  any  more." 

The  problem  -which  pressed  heaviest  of  all  on  the 
Preacher's  heart  in  this  crisis  was  how  to  save  Mrs. 
Gaston's  home. 

"If  that  place  is  sold  next  week,  my  dear,"  he  said  to 
his  wife,  "she  will  never  survive." 

"  I  know  it.  She  is  sinking  every  day.  It  breaks  my 
heart  to  look  at  her." 

"What  can  we  do?" 


136  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"I'm  sure  I  can't  tell.  We've  given  everything  we 
have  on  earth  except  the  clothes  on  our  back.  I 
haven't  another  piece  of  jewelry,  or  even  an  old  dress." 

"The  tax  and  the  cost  may  amount  to  a  hundred  and 
seventy-five  dollars.  There  isn't  a  man  in  this  county 
who  has  that  much  money,  or  I'd  borrow  it  if  I  had  to 
mortgage  my  body  and  soul  to  do  it." 

"I'll  tell  you  what  you  might  do,"  his  wife  suddenly 
exclaimed.  "Telegraph  your  old  college  mate  in  Boston 
that  you  will  accept  his  invitation  to  supply  his  pulpit 
those  last  two  Sundays  in  August.  They  will  pay  you 
handsomely." 

"It  may  be  possible,  but  where  am  I  to  get  the  money 
for  a  telegram  and  a  ticket?" 

"Surely  you  can  borrow  somewhere?" 

"I  don't  know  a  man  in  the  county  who  has  it." 

"Then  go  to  the  young  Commandant  of  the  post  here. 
Tell  him  the  facts.  Tell  him  that  a  widow  of  a  brave 
Confederate  soldier  is  about  to  be  turned  out  of  her 
home  because  she  can't  pay  the  taxes  levied  by  this 
infamous  Negro  government.  Ask  him  to  loan  you  the 
money  for  the  telegram  and  the  ticket." 

The  Preacher  seized  his  hat  and  made  his  way  as  fast 
as  possible  to  the  camp.  The  young  Captain  heard  his 
story  with  grave  courtesy. 

"Certainly,  Doctor,"  he  said;  "I'll  loan  you  the  forty 
dollars  with  pleasure.  I  wish  I  could  do  more  to  relieve 
the  distress  of  the  people.  Believe  me,  sir,  the  people 
of  the  North  do  not  dream  of  the  awful  conditions  of 
the  South.  They  are  being  fooled  by  the  politicians. 
I'll  thank  God  when  I  am  relieved  of  this  job  and  get 
home.  What  has  amazed  me  is  that  you  hot-headed 
Southern  people  have  stood  it  thus  far.  I  don't  know 
a  Northern  community  that  would  have  endured  it." 

"Ah,  Captain,  the  people  are  heartsick  of  bloodshed. 


The  Red  Flag  of  the  Auctioneer       137 

They  surrendered  in  good  faith.  They  couldn't  foresee 
this.  If  they  had " 

The  Preacher  paused,  his  eyes  grew  misty  with  tears, 
and  he  looked  thoughtfully  out  on  the  blue  mountain 
peaks  that  loomed  range  after  range  in  the  distance  until 
the  last  bald  tops  were  lost  in  the  clouds. 

"If  General  Lee  had  dreamed  of  such  an  infamy 
being  forced  on  the  South  two  years  after  his  surrender 
as  this  attempt  to  make  the  old  slaves  the  rulers  of  their 
masters,  and  to  destroy  the  Anglo-Saxon  civilisation  of 
the  South,  he  would  have  withdrawn  his  armies  into 
that  Appalachian  mountain  wild  and  fought  till  every 
white  man  in  the  South  was  exterminated. 

"The  Confederacy  went  to  pieces  in  a  day,  not 
because  the  South  could  no  longer  fight,  but  because 
they  were  fighting  the  flag  of  their  fathers,  and  they 
were  tired  of  it.  They  went  back  to  the  old  flag.  They 
expected  to  lose  their  slaves  and  repudiate  the  dogma  of 
Secession  forever.  But  they  never  dreamed  of  Negro 
dominion,  or  Negro  deification,  of  Negro  equality  and 
amalgamation,  now  being  rammed  down  their  throats 
with  bayonets.  They  never  dreamed  of  the  confiscation 
of  the  desolate  homes  of  the  poor  and  the  weak  and  the 
brokenhearted.  More  than  two  hundred  thousand 
Southern  men  fought  in  the  Union  army  in  answer 
to  Lincoln's  call — even  against  their  own  flesh  and 
blood.  But  if  this  programme  had  been  announced, 
every  one  <  f  the  two  hundred  thousand  Southern 
soldiers  who  wore  the  blue  would  have  rallied  around 
the  firesides  of  the  South.  This  infamy  was  some 
thing  undreamed  save  in  the  souls  of  a  few  desperate 
schemers  at  Washington,  who  waited  their  opportunity 
and  found  it  in  the  nation's  blind  agony  over  the 
death  of  a  martyred  leader." 

The  Preacher  pressed  the  Captain's  hand  and  hastened 


138  The  Leopard's  Spots 

to  tell  Mrs.  Gaston  of  his  plans.  He  found  her  seated 
pale  and  wistful  at  her  window  looking  out  on  the  lawn, 
now  being  parched  and  ruined  since  Nelse  was  disabled 
and  could  no  longer  tend  it. 

Charlie  was  trying  to  kiss  the  tears  away  from  her 
eyes. 

"Mamma,  dear,  you  mustn't  cry  any  more!" 

"I  can't  help  it,  darling." 

"They  can't  take  our  home  away  from  us.  I  tore 
down  the  sign  they  nailed  on  the  door,  and  Dick 
burned  it  up." 

"But  they  will  do  it,  Charlie.  The  Sheriff  will  sell  it 
at  auction  next  week,  and  we  will  never  have  a  home  of 
our  own  again." 

Charlie  quickly  bounded  to  the  door  and  showed  the 
Preacher  in. 

"I  have  good  news  for  you,  Mrs.  Gaston.  I  start  to 
Boston  to-night  to  preach  two  Sundays.  I  am  going 
to  try  to  borrow  the  money  there  to  save  your  home. 
We  will  not  be  too  sure  till  it's  done,  but  you  must 
cheer  up." 

"Oh,  Doctor,  you're  giving  me  a  new  lease  on  life !" 
she  cried,  looking  up  at  him  through  tears  of  gratitude. 
That  night  the  Preacher  hurried  on  his  way  to  Boston. 
The  days  dragged  slowly  one  after  another,  and  still 
no  word  came  to  the  anxious,  waiting  woman.  It  was 
only  two  days  now  until  the  day  fixed  for  the  sale. 

She  asked  the  Sheriff  to  come  to  see  her.  He  was  a 
brutal,  illiterate  henchman  of  Legree,  who  had  been 
appointed  to  the  office  to  do  his  bidding.  He  was  a 
brother  of  the  immortal  "Hog"  Scoggins,  who  had 
represented  an  adjoining  county  in  the  Legislature. 

"Mr.  Scoggins,  I've  sent  for  you  to  ask  you  to  post 
pone  the  sale  until  Doctor  Durham  returns  from  Boston. 
I  expect  to  get  the  money  from  him  to  pay  the  tax  bill." 


The  Red  Flag  of  the  Auctioneer       139 

"Can't  do  it,  M'um.  They's  er  lot  er  folks  comin'  ter 
bid  on  the  place." 

"  But  I  tell  you  I'm  going  to  pay  the  tax  bill." 

"Well,  M'um,  hit'll  have  ter  be  paid  afore  the  time 
sot,  er  I'll  be  erbleeged  to  sell." 

"I'm  sure  Doctor  Durham  will  get  the  money." 

"Ef  he  does,  hit'll  be  the  fust  time  hit's  happened  in 
this  county  sence  the  sales  begun." 

In  vain  she  waited  for  a  letter  or  a  telegram  from 
Boston.  Charlie  went  faithfully,  asking  Dave  Haley, 
the  postmaster,  two  or  three  times  on  the  arrival  of 
each  mail. 

"I  tell  ye  there's  nothin'  fur  ye!"  he  yelled,  as  he 
glared  at  the  boy.  "Ef  ye  don't  go  'way  from  that 
winder  I'll  pitch  ye  out  the  door!" 

The  scoundrel  had  recognised  the  letter  in  Doctor 
Durham's  handwriting  and  had  hidden  it,  suspecting 
its  contents. 

When  the  day  came  for  the  sale  Mrs.  Gaston  tried  to 
face  the  trial  bravely.  But  it  was  too  much  for  her. 
When  she  saw  a  great  herd  of  Negroes  trampling  down 
her  flowers,  laughing,  cracking  vulgar  jokes,  and 
swarming  over  the  porches,  she  sank  feebly  into  her 
chair,  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  gave  way  to  a 
passionate  flood  of  tears.  She  was  roused  by  the 
thumping  of  heavy  feet  in  the  hall  and  the  unmis 
takable  odour  of  perspiring  Negroes.  They  had 
begun  to  ransack  the  house  on  tours  of  inspection. 
The  poor  woman's  head  drooped  and  she  fell  to  the 
floor  in  a  dead  swoon. 

There  was  a  sudden  charge  as  of  an  armed  host,  the 
sound  of  blows,  a  wild  scramble,  and  the  house  was 
cleared.  Aunt  Eve  with  a  fire  shovel,  Charlie  with  a 
broken  hoe  handle  and  Dick  with  a  big  black  snake 
whip  had  cleared  the  air. 


140  The  Leopard's  Spots 

Aunt  Eve  stood  on  the  front  doorstep  shaking  the 
shovel  at  the  crowd. 

"  Des  put  yo'  big  flat  hoofs  in  dis  house  ergin  I  I'll 
split  yo'  heads  wide  open !  You  black  cattle ! " 

"Dat  we  will!"  railed  Dick,  as  he  cracked  the  whip 
at  a  little  Negro  passing. 

Charlie  ran  into  his  mother's  room  and  found  her 
lying  across  the  floor  on  her  face. 

"Aunt  Eve,  come  quick,  Mamma's  dying  I"  he 
shouted. 

They  lifted  her  to  the  bed,  and  Dick  ran  for  the 
Doctor. 

Doctor  Graham  looked  very  grave  when  he  had 
completed  his  examination. 

"Come  here,  my  boy;  I  must  tell  you  some  sad  news." 

Charlie's  big  brown  eyes  glanced  up  with  a  startled 
look  into  the  Doctor's  face. 

"Don't  tell  me  she's  dying,  Doctor;  I  can't  stand  it." 

The  Doctor  took  his  hand.  "You're  getting  to  be 
a  man  now,  my  son;  you  will  soon  be  thirteen.  You 
must  be  brave.  Your  mother  will  not  live  through 
the  night." 

The  boy  sank  on  his  knees  beside  the  still  white 
figure,  tenderly  clasped  her  thin  hand  in  his,  and  began 
to  lass  it  slowly.  He  would  kiss  it,  lay  his  wet  cheek 
against  it,  and  try  to  warm  it  with  his  hot,  young  blood. 

It  was  about  nine  o'clock  when  she  opened  her  eyes 
with  a  smile  and  looked  into  his  face. 

"My  sweet  boy,"  she  whispered. 

"Oh,  Mamma,  do  try  to  live!  Don't  leave  me,"  he 
sobbed  in  quivering  tones  as  he  leaned  over  and  kissed 
her  lips.  She  smiled  faintly  again. 

"Yes,  I  must  go,  dear.  I  am  tired.  Your  Papa  is 
waiting  for  me.  I  see  him  smiling  and  beckoning  to  me 
now.  I  must  go." 


The  Red  Flag  of  the  Auctioneer       141 

A  sob  shook  the  boy  with  an  agony  no  words 
could  frame. 

"There,  there,  dear,  don't,"  she  soothingly  said.  "  You 
will  grow  to  be  a  brave,  strong  man.  You  will  fight  this 
battle  out,  and  win  back  our  home  and  bring  your  own 
bride  here  in  the  far-away  days  of  sunshine  and  success 
I  see  for  you.  She  will  love  you,  and  the  flowers  will 
blossom  on  the  lawn  again.  But  I  am  tired.  Kiss 
me — I  must  go." 

Her  heart  fluttered  on  for  awhile,  but  she  never  spoke 
again. 

At  ten  o'clock  Mrs.  Durham  tenderly  lifted  the  boy 
from  the  bedside,  kissed  him,  and  said  as  she  led  him 
to  his  room: 

"She's  done  with  suffering,  Charlie.  You  are  going 
to  live  with  me  now,  and  let  me  love  you  and  be 
your  mother." 

•  •••••• 

The  Preacher  had  made  a  profound  impression  on  his 
Boston  congregation. 

They  were  charmed  by  his  simple,  direct  appeal  to  the 
heart.  His  fiery  emphasis,  impassioned  dogmatic  faith, 
his  tenderness  and  the  strange  pathos  of  his  voice  swept 
them  off  their  feet.  At  night  the  big  church  was  crowded 
to  the  doors,  and  throngs  were  struggling  in  vain  to  gain 
admittance.  At  the  close  of  the  services  he  was 
overwhelmed  with  the  expressions  of  gratitude  and 
heartfelt  sympathy  with  which  they  thanked  him 
for  his  messages. 

He  was  feasted  and  dined  and  taken  out  into  the 
parks  behind  spanking  teams,  until  his  head  was  dizzy 
with  the  unaccustomed  whirl. 

The  Preacher  went  through  it  all  with  a  heavy  heart. 
Those  beautiful  homes,  with  their  rich  carpets  and 
handsome  furniture,  and  those  long  lines  of  beautiful 


142  The  Leopard's  Spots 

carriages  in  the  parks,  made  a  contrast  with  the 
agony  of  universal  ruin  which  he  left  at  home  that 
crushed  his  soul. 

He  hastened  to  tell  the  story  of  Mrs.  Gaston  to  a 
genial  old  merchant  who  had  taken  a  great  fancy  to  him. 

A  tear  glistened  in  the  old  man's  eye  as  he 
quickly  rose. 

"Come  right  down  to  my  store.  I'll  get  you  the 
money  before  the  post-office  closes.  I've  got  tickets  for 
you  to  go  to  the  Colosseum  with  me  to-night  and  hear 
the  music — the  great  Peace  Jubilee.  We  are  celebrating 
the  return  of  peace  and  prosperity  and  the  preservation 
of  the  Union.  It's  the  greatest  musical  festival  the 
world  ever  saw." 

The  Preacher  was  dazed  with  the  sense  of  its  sublimity 
and  the  pathetic  tragedy  of  the  South  that  lay  back  of 
its  joy. 

The  great  Colosseum,  constructed  for  the  purpose, 
seated  more  than  forty  thousand  people.  Such  a  crowd 
he  had  never  seen  gathered  together  within  one  building. 
The  soul  of  the  orator  in  him  leaped  with  divine  power  as 
he  glanced  over  the  swaying  ocean  of  human  faces.  There 
were  twelve  thousand  trained  voices  in  the  chorus.  He 
had  dreamed  of  such  music  in  Heaven  when  countless 
hosts  of  angels  should  gather  around  God's  throne.  He 
had  never  expected  to  hear  it  on  this  earth.  He  was 
transported  with  a  rapture  that  thrilled  and  lifted  him 
above  the  consciousness  of  time  and  sense. 

They  rendered  the  masterpieces  of  all  the  ages.  The 
music  continued  hour  after  hour,  day  after  day,  and 
night  after  night. 

The  grand  chorus  within  the  Colosseum  was  accom 
panied  by  the  ringing  of  bells  in  the  city  and  the  firing 
of  cannon  on  the  Common,  discharged  in  perfect  time 
with  the  melody  that  rolled  upward  from  those  twelve 


The  Red  Flag  of  the  Auctioneer       143 

thousand  voices  and  broke  against  the  gates  of  Heaven. 
When  every  voice  was  in  full  cry,  and  every  instrument 
of  music  that  man  had  ever  devised  throbbed  in 
harmony,  and  a  hundred  anvils  were  ringing  a  chorus  of 
steel  in  perfect  time,  Perepa  Rosa  stepped  forward  on 
the  great  stage,  and  in  a  voice  that  rang  its  splendid 
note  of  triumph  over  all  like  the  trumpet  of  the  arch 
angel,  sang  "The  Star-Spangled  Banner." 

Men  and  women  fainted,  and  one  woman  died,  unable 
to  endure  the  strain.  The  Preacher  turned  his  head 
away  and  looked  out  of  the  window.  A  soft  wind  was 
blowing  from  the  South.  On  its  wings  were  borne  to 
his  heart  the  cry  of  the  widow  and  orphan,  the  hungry 
and  the  dying,  still  being  trampled  to  death  by  a  war 
more  terrible  than  the  first,  because  it  was  waged  against 
the  unarmed,  women  and  children,  the  wounded,  the 
starving  and  the  defenseless !  He  tried  in  vain  to  keep 
back  the  tears.  Bending  low,  he  put  his  face  in  his 
hands  and  cried  like  a  child. 

"  God  forgive  them !  They  know  not  what  they  do ! " 
he  moaned. 

The  kindly  old  man  by  his  side  said  nothing,  supposing 
he  was  overcome  by  the  grandeur  of  the  music. 


CHAPTER  XIX 
THE  RALLY  OF  THE  CLANSMEN 

WHEN  the  Preacher  took  the  train  in  Boston 
for  the  South,  his  friendly  merchant,  a 
deacon,  was  by  his  side. 

"Now,  you  put  my  name  and  address  down  in  your 
note-book — William  Crane.  And  don't  forget  about  us." 

"I'll  never  forget  you,  Deacon." 

"Say,  I  may  just  as  well  tell  you,"  whispered  the 
Deacon,  bending  close;  "we  are  not  going  to  allow  you 
to  stay  down  South.  "We'll  be  down  after  you  before 
long — just  as  well  be  packing  up." 

The  Preacher  smiled,  looked  out  of  the  car  window, 
and  made  no  reply. 

"Well,  good-by,  Doctor;  good-by.  God  bless  you 
and  your  work  and  your  people.  You've  brought  me 
a  message  warm  from  God's  heart.  I'll  never  forget  it/' 

"Good-by,  Deacon." 

As  the  train  whirled  southward  through  the  rich, 
populous  towns  and  cities  of  the  North,  again  the  sharp 
contrast  with  the  desolation  of  his  own  land  cut  him 
like  a  knife.  He  thought  of  Legree  and  Haley,  Perkins 
and  Tim  Shelby  robbing  widows  and  orphans  and  sweep 
ing  the  poverty-stricken  Southland  with  riot,  pillage, 
murder  and  brigandage,  and  posing  as  the  representa 
tives  of  the  conscience  of  the  North.  And  his  heart 
was  heavy  with  sorrow. 

On  reaching  Hambright  he  was  thunderstruck  at  the 

144 


The  Rally  of  the  Clansmen  145 

news  of  the  sale  of  Mrs.  Gaston's  place  and  her  tragic 
death. 

"Why,  my  dear,  I  sent  the  money  to  her  on  the  first 
Monday  I  spent  in  Boston,"  he  declared  to  his  wife. 

"It  never  reached  her." 

"Then  Dave  Haley,  the  dirty  slave-driver,  has  held 
that  letter.  I'll  see  to  this."  He  hurried  to  the  post- 
office. 

"Mr.  Haley,"  he  exclaimed,  "I  sent  a  money-order 
letter  to  Mrs.  Gaston  from  Boston  on  Monday  a  week 
ago." 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  Haley  in  his  blandest  manner, 
"it  got  here  the  day  after  the  sale." 

"You're  an  infamous  liar!"  shouted  the  Preacher. 

"Of  course.  Of  course.  All  Union  men  are  liars,  to 
hear  rebel  traitors  talk." 

"I'll  report  you  to  Washington  for  this  rascality." 

"So  do,  so  do.  Mor'n  likely  the  President  and  the 
Post-Office  Department  '11  be  glad  to  have  this  informa 
tion  from  so  great  a  man." 

As  the  Preacher  was  leaving  the  post-office  he  encoun 
tered  the  Honourable  Tim  Shelby,  dressed  in  the  height 
of  fashion,  his  silk  hat  shining  in  the  sun  and  his  eyes 
rolling  with  the  joy  of  living.  The  Preacher  stepped 
squarely  in  front  of  Tim. 

"Tim  Shelby,  I  hear  you  have  moved  into  Mrs, 
Gaston's  home  and  are  using  her  furniture.  By  whose 
authority  do  you  dare  such  insolence?" 

"By  authority  of  the  law,  sir.  Mrs.  Gaston  died 
intestate.  Her  effects  are  in  the  hands  of  our  County 
Administrator,  Mr.  Ezra  Perkins.  I'll  be  pleased  to 
receive  you,  sir,  any  time  you  would  like  to  call,"  said 
Tim,  with  a  bow. 

"I'll  call  in  due  time,"  replied  the  Preacher,  looking 
Tim  straight  in  the  ejTe. 


146  The  Leopard's  Spots 

Haley  had  been  peeping  through  the  window,  watching- 
and  listening  to  this  encounter. 

"These  charmin'  preachers  think  they  own  this 
county,  Brother  Shelby,"  laughed  Haley,  as  he  grasped 
Tim's  outstretched  hand. 

"Yes,  they  are  the  curse  of  the  state.  I  wish  to  God 
they  had  succeeded  in  burning  him  alive  that  night  the 
boys  tried  it.  They'll  get  him  later  on.  Brother  Haley, 
he's  a  dangerous  man.  He  must  be  put  out  of  the  way 
or  we'll  never  have  smooth  sailing  in  this  county." 

"I  believe  you're  right.  He's  just  been  in  here  cussin' 
me  about  that  letter  of  the  widder's  that  didn't  get  to 
her  in  time.  He  thinks  he  can  run  the  post-office." 

"Well,  we'll  show  him  this  county's  in  the  hands  of 
the  loyal,"  added  Tim. 

"Heard  the  news  from  Charleston?" 

"Heard  it?  I  guess  I  have.  J  talked  with  the  com 
manding  general  in  Charleston  two  weeks  ago.  He 
told  me  then  he  was  going  to  set  aside  that  decision  of 
the  Supreme  Court  in  a  ringing  order  permitting  the 
marriage  of  Negroes  to  white  women,  and  commanding 
its  enforcement  on  every  military  post.  I  see  he's 
done  it  in  no  uncertain  words." 

"It's  a  great  day,  brother,  for  the  world.  There'll  be 
no  more  colour  line." 

"Yes,  times  have  changed,"  said  Tim,  with  a  trium 
phant  smile.  "I  guess  our  white  hot-bloods  will  sweat 
and  bluster  and  swear  a  little  when  they  read  that  order. 
But  we've  got  the  bayonets  to  enforce  it.  They'd  just 
as  well  cool  down." 

"That's  the  stuff,"  said  Haley,  taking  a  fresh  chew 
of  tobacco. 

"  Let  'em  squirm.  They're  flat  on  their  backs.  We 
are  on  top,  and  we  are  going  to  stay  on  top.  I  expect  to 
lead  a  fair  white  bride  into  my  house  before  another 


The  Rally  of  the  Clansmen  147 

year,  and  have  poor  white  aristocrats  to  tend  my 
iawn."  Tim  worked  his  ears  and  looked  up  at  the 
ceiling  in  a  dreamy  sort  of  way. 

"That'll  be  a  sight,  won't  it !"  exclaimed  Haley,  with 
delight.  "Where's  that  scoundrel  Nelse  that  lived 
with  Mrs.  Gaston?" 

"Oh,  we  fixed  him,"  said  Tim.  "The  black  rascal 
wouldn't  join  the  League,  and  wouldn't  vote  with  his 
people,  and  still  showed  fight  after  we  beat  him  half  to 
death,  so  we  put  a  levy  of  fifty  dollars  on  his  cabin,  sold 
him  out,  and  every  piece  of  furniture  and  every  rag  of 
clothes  we  could  get  hold  of.  He'll  leave  the  country 
now  or  we'll  kill  him  next  time." 

"You  ought  to  'a'  killed  him  the  first  time  and  then 
the  job  would  ha'  been  over." 

"Oh,  we'll  have  the  country  in  good  shape  in  a  little 
while,  and  don't  you  forget  it." 

The  news  of  the  order  of  the  military  commandant  of 
"District  No.  2,"  comprising  the  Carolinas,  abrogating 
the  decision  of  the  North  Carolina  Supreme  Court 
forbidding  the  intermarriage  of  Negroes  and  whites, 
fell  like  a  bombshell  on  Campbell  County.  The  people 
had  not  believed  that  the  military  authorities  would 
dare  to  go  to  the  length  of  attempting  to  torce  social 
equality. 

This  order  from  Charleston  was  not  only  explicit,  its 
language  was  peculiarly  emphatic.  It  apparent^  com 
manded  intermarriage,  and  ordered  the  military 
to  enforce  the  command  at  the  point  of  the 
bayonet. 

The  feelings  of  the  people  were  wrought  to  the  pitch 
of  fury.  It  needed  but  a  word  from  a  daring  leader, 
and  a  massacre  of  every  Negro,  scalawag  and  carpet 
bagger  in  the  county  might  have  followed.  The 
Reverend  John  Durham  was  busy  day  and  night  seeking 


148  The  Leopard's  Spots 

to  allay  excitement  and  prevent  an  uprising  of  the 
white  population. 

Along  with  the  announcement  of  this  military  order 
came  the  startling  news  that  Simon  Legree,  whose 
infamy  was  known  from  end  to  end  of  the  state,  was  to 
be  the  next  Governor,  and  that  the  Honourable 
Tim  Shelby  was  a  candidate  for  Chief  Justice  of  the 
Supreme  Court. 

Legree  was  in  Washington  at  the  time  on  a  mission 
to  secure  a  stand  of  twenty  thousand  rifles  from  the 
Secretary  of  War,  with  which  to  arm  the  Negro  troops 
he  was  drilling  for  the  approaching  election.  The 
grant  was  made,  and  Legree  came  back  in  triumph  with 
his  rifles. 

Relief  for  the  ruined  people  was  now  a  hopeless  dream. 
Black  despair  was  clutching  at  every  white  man's  heart. 
The  taxpayers  had  held  a  convention  and  sent  their 
representatives  to  Washington,  exposing  the  monstrous 
thefts  that  were  being  committed  under  the  authority 
of  the  government  by  the  organised  band  of  thieves 
who  were  looting  the  state.  But  the  thieves  were  the 
pets  of  politicians  high  in  power.  The  committee  of 
taxpayers  were  insulted  and  sent  home  to  pay  their 
taxes. 

And  then  a  thing  happened  in  Hambright  that  brought 
matters  to  a  sudden  crisis. 

The  Honourable  Tim  Shelby,  as  school  commissioner, 
had  printed  the  notices  for  an  examination  of  school 
teachers  for  Campbell  County.  An  enormous  tax  had 
been  levied  and  collected  by  the  county  for  this  purpose, 
but  no  school  had  been  opened.  Tim  announced,  how 
ever,  that  the  school  would  surely  be  opened  the  first 
Monday  in  October. 

Miss  Mollie  Graham,  the  pretty  niece  of  the  old 
,  was  struggling  to  support  a  blind  mother  and 


The  Rally  of  the  Clansmen  149 

four  younger  children.  Her  father  and  brother  had 
been  killed  in  the  war.  Their  house  had  been  sold  for 
taxes,  and  they  were  required  now  to  pay  Tim  Shelby 
ten  dollars  a  month  for  rent.  When  she  saw  the  school 
notice  her  heart  gave  a  leap.  If  she  could  only  get  the 
place  it  would  save  them  from  beggary. 

She  fairly  ran  to  the  Preacher  to  get  his  advice. 

"Certainly,  child,  try  for  it.  It's  humiliating  to  ask 
such  a  favor  of  that  black  ape,  but  if  you  can  save 
your  loved  ones,  do  it." 

So  with  trembling  hand  she  knocked  at  Tim's  door. 
He  required  all  applicants  to  apply  personally  at  his 
house.  Tim  met  her  with  the  bows  and  smirks  of  a 
dancing-master. 

"Delighted  to  see  your  pretty  face  this  morning, 
Miss  Graham,"  he  cried,  enthusiastically. 

The  girl  blushed  and  hesitated  at  the  door. 

"Just  walk  right  into  the  parlour;  I'll  join  you  in  a 
moment." 

She  bravely  set  her  lip  and  entered. 

"And  now  what  can  I  do  for  you,  Miss  Graham? " 

"I've  come  to  apply  for  a  teacher's  place  in  the 
school." 

"Ah,  indeed!  I'm  glad  to  know  that.  There  is  only 
one  difficulty.  You  must  be  loyal.  Your  people  were 
rebels,  and  the  new  government  has  determined  to  have 
only  loyal  teachers." 

"I  think  I'm  loyal  enough  to  the  old  flag  now  that 
our  people  have  surrendered,"  said  the  girl. 

"Yes,  yes,  I  dare  say;  but  do  you  think  you  can 
accept  the  new  regime  of  government  and  society  which 
we  are  now  establishing  in  the  South?  We  have 
abolished  the  colour  line.  Would  you  have  a  mixed 
school  if  assigned  one?" 

"I    think     I'd     prefer    to    teach    a    Negro     school 


150  The  Leopard's  Spots 

outright,  to  a  mixed  one,"  she  said,  after  a  moment's 
hesitation. 

Tim  continued:  "You  know  we  are  living  in  a  new 
world.  The  supreme  law  of  the  land  has  broken  down 
every  barrier  of  race  and  we  are  henceforth  to  be  one 
people.  The  struggle  for  existence  knows  no  race  or 
colour.  It's  a  struggle  now  for  bread.  I'm  in  a  posi 
tion  to  be  of  great  help  to  you  and  your  family  if  you 
will  only  let  me." 

The  girl  suddenly  rose,  impelled  by  some  resistless 
instinct. 

"  May  I  have  the  place  then  ?  "  she  asked,  approaching 
the  door. 

"Well,  now,  you  know  it  depends  really  altogether  on 
my  fancy.  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  You're  still  full 
of  silly  prejudices.  I  can  see  that.  But  if  you  will  over 
come  them  enough  to  do  one  thing  for  me  as  a  test, 
that  will  cost  you  nothing  and  of  which  the  world  will 
never  be  the  wiser,  I'll  give  you  the  place,  and  more;  I'll 
remit  the  ten  dollars  a  month  rent  you're  now  paying. 
Will  you  do  it?" 

"What  is  it?"  the  girl  asked,  with  pale,  quivering 
lips. 

"Let  me  kiss  you— once!  "  he  whispered. 

With  a  scream,  she  sprang  past  him  out  of  the  door, 
ran  like  a  deer  across  the  lawn,  and  fell  sobbing  in  her 
mother's  arms  when  she  reached  her  home. 

The  next  day  the  town  was  unusually  quiet.  Tim 
had  business  with  the  Commandant  of  the  company  of 
regulars  still  quartered  at  Hambright.  He  spent  most 
of  the  day  with  him,  and  walked  about  the  streets 
ostentatiously  showing  his  familiarity  with  the  corporal 
who  accompanied  him.  A  guard  of  three  soldiers  was 
stationed  around  Tim's  house  for  two  nights  and  then 
withdrawn. 


The  Rally  of  the  Clansmen  151 

The  next  night  at  twelve  o'clock  two  hundred  white- 
robed  horses  assembled  around  the  old  home  of  Mrs. 
Gaston,  where  Tim  was  sleeping.  The  moon  was  full 
and  flooded  the  lawn  with  silver  glory.  On  those 
horses  sat  two  hundred  white-robed  silent  men  whose 
close-fitting  hood  disguises  looked  like  the  mail  helmets 
of  ancient  knights. 

It  was  the  work  of  a  moment  to  seize  Tim  and  bind 
him  across  a  horse's  back.  Slowly  the  grim  procession 
moved  to  the  court-house  square. 

When  the  sun  rose  the  next  morning  the  lifeless  body 
of  Tim  Shelby  was  dangling  from  a  rope  tied  to  the  iron 
rail  of  the  balcony  of  the  court-house.  His  neck  was 
broken  and  his  body  was  hanging  low — scarcely  three 
feet  from  the  ground.  His  thick  lips  had  been  split  with 
a  sharp  knife,  and  from  his  teeth  hung  this  placard: 

"  The  answer  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race  to 
Negro  lips  that  dare  pollute  with  words  the 
womanhood  of  the  South.  K.  K.  K." 

And  the  Ku  Klux  Klan  was  master  of  Campbell 
County. 

The  origin  of  this  Law  and  Order  League,  which 
sprang  up  like  magic  in  a  night  and  nullified  the  pro 
gramme  of  Congress,  though  backed  by  an  army  of  a 
million  veteran  soldiers,  is  yet  a  mystery. 

The  simple  truth  is,  it  was  a  spontaneous  and  resist 
less  racial  uprising  of  clansmen  of  highland  origin  living 
along  the  Appalachian  Mountains  and  foothills  of  the 
South,  and  it  appeared  almost  simultaneously  in  every 
Southern  state,  produced  by  the  same  terrible  conditions. 

It  was  the  answer  to  their  foes  of  a  proud  and  in 
domitable  race  of  men  driven  to  the  wall.  In  the  hour 
of  their  defeat  they  laid  down  their  arms  and  accepted 


152  The  Leopard's  Spots 

in  good  faith  the  results  of  the  war.  And  then,  when 
unarmed  and  defenseless,  a  group  of  pothouse  politi 
cians  for  political  ends  renewed  the  war  and  attempted 
to  wipe  out  the  civilisation  of  the  South. 

This  Invisible  Empire  of  White  Robed  Anglo-Saxon 
Knights  was  simply  the  old  answer  of  organised  man 
hood  to  organised  crime.  Its  purpose  was  to  bring 
order  out  of  chaos,  protect  the  weak  and  defenseless, 
the  widows  and  orphans  of  brave  men  who  had  died 
for  their  country,  to  drive  from  power  the  thieves  who 
were  robbing  the  people,  redeem  the  commonwealth 
from  infamy,  and  reestablish  civilisation. 

Within  one  week  from  its  appearance,  life  and 
property  were  as  safe  as  in  any  Northern  community, 

When  the  Negroes  came  home  from  their  League 
meeting  one  night  they  ran  terror-stricken  past  long 
rows  of  white  horsemen.  Not  a  word  was  spoken, 
but  that  was  the  last  meeting  the  "Union  League  of 
America"  ever  held  in  Hambright. 

Every  Negro  found  guilty  of  a  misdemeanor  was 
promptly  thrashed  and  warned  against  its  recurrence. 
The  sudden  appearance  of  this  host  of  white  cavalry 
grasping  at  their  throats  with  the  grip  of  cold  steel 
struck  the  heart  of  Legree  and  his  followers  with  the 
chill  of  a  deadly  fear. 

It  meant  inevitable  ruin,  overthrow,  and  a  prison  cell 
for  the  "loyal"  statesmen  who  were  with  him  in  his 
efforts  to  maintain  the  new  "republican  form  of  govern 
ment"  in  North  Carolina. 

At  the  approaching  election,  this  white  terror  could 
intimidate  every  Negro  in  the  state  unless  he  could  arm 
them  all,  suspend  the  writ  of  Habeas  Corpus,  and  place 
every  county  under  the  strictest  martial  law. 

Washington  was  besieged  by  a  terrified  army  of  the 
"loyal,"  who  saw  their  occupation  threatened.  They 


The  Rally  of  the  Clansmen        .   153 

begged  for  more  troops,  more  guns  for  Negro  militia, 
and  for  the  reestablishment  of  universal  martial  law 
until  the  votes  were  properly  counted. 

But  the  great  statesmen  laughed  them  to  scorn  as  a 
set  of  weak  cowards  and  fools  frightened  by  Negro  stories 
of  ghosts.  It  was  incredible  to  them  that  the  crushed, 
poverty-stricken  and  unarmed  South  could  dare  chal 
lenge  the  power  of  the  National  Government.  They 
were  sent  back  with  scant  comfort. 

The  night  that  Ezra  Perkins  and  Haley  got  back 
from  Washington,  where  they  had  gone  summoned  by 
Legree  and  Hogg  to  testify  to  the  death  of  Tim  Shelby, 
they  saw  a  sight  that  made  their  souls  quake. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  Ku  Klux  Klan  held  a  formal 
parade  through  the  streets  of  Hambright.  How  the 
news  was  circulated  nobody  knew,  but  it  seemed  every 
body  in  the  county  knew  of  it.  The  streets  were  lined 
with  thousands  of  people  who  had  poured  into  town 
that  afternoon. 

At  exactly  ten  o'clock  a  bugle  call  was  heard  on  the 
hill  to  the  west  of  the  town,  and  the  muffled  tread  of 
soft-shod  horses  came  faintly  on  their  ears.  Women 
stood  on  the  sidewalks,  holding  their  babies  and 
smiling,  and  children  were  laughing  and  playing  in 
the  streets. 

They  rode  four  abreast  in  perfect  order  slowly  through 
the  town.  It  was  utterly  impossible  to  recognise  a  man 
or  a  horse,  so  complete  was  the  simple  disguise  of  the 
white  sheet  which  blanketed  the  horse,  fitting  closely 
over  his  head  and  ears  and  falling  gracefully  over  his 
form  toward  the  ground. 

No  citizen  of  Hambright  was  in  the  procession.  They 
were  in  the  streets  watching  it  pass.  There  were  fifteen 
hundred  men  in  line.  But  the  reports  next  day  all 
agreed  in  fixing  the  number  at  more  than  five  thousand. 


154  The  Leopard's  Spots 

Perkins  and  Haley  had  watched  it  from  a  darkened 
room. 

"Brother  Haley,  that's  the  end !  Lord,  I  wish  I  was 
back  in  Michigan,  jail  er  no  jail,"  said  Perkins,  mopping 
the  perspiration  from  his  brow. 

"We'll  have  ter  dig  out  purty  quick,  I  reckon," 
answered  Haley. 

"And  to  think  them  fools  at  Washington  laughed  at 
us !"  cried  Perkins,  clenching  his  fists. 

And  that  night  mothers  and  fathers  gathered  their 
children  to  bed  with  a  sense  of  grateful  security  they 
had  not  felt  through  years  of  war  and  turmoil. 


CHAPTER   XX 
HOW  CIVILISATION  WAS  SAVED 

THE  success  of  the  Ku  Klux  Klan  was  so  com 
plete  its  organisers  were  dazed.  Its  appeal  to- 
the  ignorance  and  superstition  of  the  Negro  at 
once  reduced  the  race  to  obedience  and  order.  Its 
threat  against  the  scalawag  and  carpet-bagger  struck 
terror  to  their  craven  souls,  and  the  "Union  League," 
"  Red  Strings"  and  "Heroes  of  America"  went  to  pieces 
with  incredible  rapidity. 

Major  Stuart  Dameron,  the  chief  of  the  Klan  in 
Campbell  County,  was  holding  a  conference  with  the 
Reverend  John  Durham  in  his  study. 

' '  Doctor,  our  work  has  succeeded  beyond  our  wildest 
dream." 

"Yes,  and  I  thank  God  we  can  breathe  freely  if 
only  for  a  moment,  Major.  The  danger  now  lies  in 
our  success.  We  are  necessarily  playing  with  fire." 

"  I  know  it,  and  it  requires  my  time  day  and  night  to 
prevent  reckless  men  from  disgracing  us." 

' '  It  will  not  be  necessary  to  enforce  the  death  penalty 
against  any  other  man  in  this  county,  Major.  The 
execution  of  Tim  Shelby  was  absolutely  necessary  at 
the  time,  and  it  has  been  sufficient." 

"I  agree  with  you.  I've  impressed  this  on  the  master 
of  every  lodge,  but  some  of  them  are  growing  reckless." 

"Who  are  they?  " 

"Young  Allan  McLeod  for  one.  He  is  a  daredevil, 
and  only  eighteen  years  old. 

155 


156  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"He's  a  troublesome  boy.  I  don't  seem  to  have  any 
influence  with  him.  But  I  think  Mrs.  Durham  can 
manage  him.  He  seems  to  think  a  great  deal  of  her, 
and  in  spite  of  his  wild  habits  he  comes  regularly  to 
her  Sunday-school  class." 

"I  hope  she  can  bring  him  to  his  senses." 
"Leave  him  to  me   then  awhile.     We  will  see  what 
can  be  done." 

Hogg's  Legislature  promptly  declared  the  Scotch-Irish 
hill  counties  in  a  state  of  insurrection,  passed  a  militia 
bill,  and  the  Governor  issued  a  proclamation  suspending 
the  writ  of  Habeas  Corpus  in  these  counties. 

Fearing  the  effects  of  Negro  militia  in  the  hill  districts, 
he  surprised  Hambright  by  suddenly  marching  into  the 
court-house  square  a  regiment  of  white  mountain  guer 
rillas  recruited  from  the  outlaws  of  East  Tennessee  and 
commanded  by  a  noted  desperado,  Colonel  Henry 
Berry.  The  regiment  had  two  pieces  of  field  artillery. 

It  was  impossible  for  them  to  secure  evidence  against 
any  member  of  the  Klan  unless  by  the  intimidation  of 
some  coward  who  could  be  made  to  confess.  Not  a  dis 
guise  had  ever  been  penetrated.  It  was  the  rule  of  the 
order  for  its  decrees  to  be  executed  in  the  district  issuing 
the  decree  by  the  lodge  farthest  removed  in  the  county 
from  the  scene.  In  this  way  not  a  man  or  a  horse  was 
ever,  identified. 

The  Colonel  made  an  easy  solution  of  this  difficulty, 
however.  Acting  under  instructions  from  Governor 
Hogg,  he  secured  from  Haley  and  Perkins  a  list  of  every 
influential  man  in  every  precinct  in  the  county,  and  a 
list  of  possible  turncoats  and  cowards.  He  detailed 
five  hundred  of  his  men  to  make  arrests,  distributed  them 
thoroughout  the  county,  and  arrested  without  warrants 
more  than  two  hundred  citizens  in  one  day. 


How  Civilisation  Was  Saved          157 

The  next  day  Berry  handcuffed  together  the  Reverend 
John  Durham  and  Major  Dameron,  and  led  them, 
escorted  by  a  company  of  cavalry,  on  a  grand  circuit 
of  the  county,  that  the  people  might  be  terrified  by 
the  sight  of  their  chains.  An  ominous  silence  greeted 
them  on  every  hand.  Additional  arrests  were  made 
by  this  troop,  and  twenty-five  more  prisoners  were 
led  into  Hambright  the  next  day.  | 

The  jail  was  crowded,  and  the  court-house  was  used ' 
as  a  jail.     More  than  a  hundred  and  fifty  men  were 
confined  in  the  court-room.      Reverend  John  Durham 
was    everywhere    among   the    crowd,  laughing,  joking 
and  cheering  the  men. 

"Major  Dameron,  a  jail  never  held  so  many  honest 
men  before,"  he  said  with  a  smile,  as  he  looked  over 
the  crowd  of  his  church  members  gathered  from  every 
quarter  of  the  county. 

"Well,  Doctor,  you've  got  a  quorum  here  of  your 
church  and  you  can  call  them  to  order  for  business." 

"That's  a  fact,  isn't  it?" 

"There's  old  Deacon  Kline  over  there,  who  looks 
like  he  wishes  he  hadn't  come." 

The  Preacher  walked  over  to  the   Deacon. 

"What's  the  matter,  Brother  Kline;  you  look 
pensive?" 

The  Deacon  laughed.  "Yes,  I  don't  like  my  bed. 
I'm  used  to  feathers." 

"Well,  they  say  they  are  going  to  give  you  feathers 
mixed  with  tar,  so  you  won't  lose  them  so  easily." 

"I'll  have  company,  I  reckon,"  said  the  Deacon, 
with  a  wink. 

"The  funny  thing,  Deacon,  is  that  Major  Dameron 
tells  me  there  isn't  a  man  in  all  the  crowd  of  two  hundred 
and  fifty  arrested  who  ever  went  on  a  raid.  It's  too  bad 
you  old  fellows  have  to  pay  for  the  follies  of  youth." 


158  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"It  is  tough.  But  we  can  stand  it,  Preacher." 
They  clasped  hands. 

"Haven't  smelled  a  coward  anywhere,  have  you, 
Deacon?  " 

"I've  seen  one  or  two  a  little  fidgety,  I  thought. 
Cheer  'em  up  with  a  word,  Preacher." 

Springing  on  the  platform  of  the  judge's  desk,  he 
looked  over  the  crowd  for  a  moment,  and  a  cheer  shook 
the  building. 

"Boys,  I  don't  believe  there's  a  single  coward  in  our 
ranks."  Another  cheer. 

"Just  keep  cool  now  and  let  our  enemies  do  the  talk 
ing.  In  ten  days  every  man  of  you  will  be  back  at 
home  at  his  work." 

"How  will  we  get  out  with  the  writ  suspended?" 
asked  the  man  standing  near. 

"That's  the  richest  thing  of  all.  A  United  States  judge 
has  just  decided  that  the  Governor  of  the  state  cannot 
suspend  the  rights  of  a  citizen  of  the  United  States 
under  the  new  Fourteenth  Amendment  to  the  Consti 
tution  so  recently  rammed  down  our  throats.  Hogg  is 
hoisted  on  his  own  petard.  Our  lawyers  are  now  serving 
out  writs  of  Habeas  Corpus  before  this  Federal  judge 
under  the  Fourteenth  Amendment,  and  you  will  be  dis 
charged  in  less  than  ten  days  unless  there's  a  skunk 
among  you.  And  I  don't  smell  one  anywhere."  Again 
a  cheer  shook  the  building. 

An  orderly  walked  up  to  the  Preacher  and  handed 
him  a  note. 

"What  is  it?" 

"Read  it!"     The  men  crowded  around. 

"Read  it,  Major  Dameron;  I'm  dumb!"  said  the 
Preacher. 

"A  military  order  from  the  dirty  rascal,  Berry, 
commanding  the  mountain  bummers,  forbidding  the 


How  Civilisation  Was  Saved  159 

Reverend  John  Durham  to  speak  during  his  imprison 
ment." 

A  roar  of  laughter  followed  this  announcement. 

"That's  cruel.  It'll  kill  him!"  cried  Deacon  Kline, 
as  he  jabbed  the  Preacher  in  the  ribs. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  Preacher  was  back  in  his  place 
with  five  of  the  best  singers  from  his  church  by  his  side. 
He  began  to  sing  the  old  hymns  of  Zion  and  every  man 
in  the  room  joined  until  the  building  quivered  with 
melody. 

"Now  a  good  old  Yankee  hymn  that  suits  this  hour, 
written  by  an  old  Baptist  preacher  I  met  in  Boston  the 
other  day,"  cried  the  Preacher. 

"My  country  'tis  of  thee, 
Sweet  land  of  liberty, 
Of  thee  I  sing." 

Heavens,  how  they  sang  it,  while  the  Preacher  lined 
it  off,  stood  above  them  beating  time,  and  led  in  a 
clear,  mighty  voice !  Again  the  orderly  appeared  with 
a  note. 

"What  is  it  now?"  they  cried  on  every  side. 

Again  Major  Dameron  announced  "Military  Order 
No.  2,  forbidding  the  Reverend  John  Durham  to  sing  or 
induce  anybody  to  sing  while  in  prison." 

Another  roar  of  laughter  that  broke  into  a  cheer 
which  made  the  glass  rattle.  When  the  soldier  had 
disappeared,  the  Reverend  John  Durham  ascended  the 
platform,  looked  about  him  with  a  humourous  twinkle 
in  his  eye,  straightened  himself  to  his  full  height  and 
crowed  like  a  rooster!  A  cheer  shook  the  building 
to  its  foundations.  Roar  after  roar  of  its  defiant  cadence 
swept  across  the  square  and  made  Haley  and  Perkins 
tremble  as  they  looked  at  each  other  over  their  con 
ference  table  with  Berry. 


160  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"What  the  devil's  the  matter  now?"  cried  Haley. 

"Do  you  suppose  it's  a  rescue?"  whispered  Perkins. 

"No,  it's  some  new  trick  of  that  damned  Preacher. 
I'll  chain  him  in  a  room  to  himself,"  growled  Berry. 

"Better  not,  Colonel.  He's  the  pet  of  these  white 
devils.  Ye'd  better  let  him  alone."  Berry  accepted 
the  advice. 

Five  days  later  the  prisoners  were  arraigned  before 
the  United  States  judge,  Preston  Rivers,  at  Independ 
ence.  Not  a  scrap  of  evidence  could  be  produced 
against  them.  Governor  Hogg  was  present  with  a 
flaming  military  escort.  He  held  a  stormy  interview 
with  Judge  Rivers. 

"If  you  discharge  these  prisoners  you  destroy  the 
government  of  this  state,  sir!  "  thundered  Hogg. 

"Are  they  not  citizens  of  the  United  States?  Does 
not  the  Fourteenth  Amendment  apply  to  a  white  man 
as  well  as  a  Negro?  "  quietly  asked  the  Judge. 

"Yes,  but  they  are  conspirators  against  the  Union. 
They  are  murderers  and  felons." 

"Then  prove  it  in  my  court  and  I'll  hand  them 
back  to  you.  They  are  entitled  to  a  trial,  under  our 
Constitution." 

"I'll  demand  your  removal  by  the  President," 
shouted  Hogg. 

"Get  out  of  this  room,  or  I'll  remove  you  with  the 
point  of  my  boot !  "  growled  the  Judge,  with  rising 
wrath.  ' '  You  have  suspended  the  writ  of  Habeas  Corpus 
to  win  a  political  campaign.  The  Ku  Klux  Klan  has 
broken  up  your  Leagues.  You  are  fighting  for  your 
life.  But  I'll  tell  you  now,  you  can't  suspend  the 
Constitution  of  the  United  States  while  I'm  a  Federal 
judge  in  this  state.  I'm  not  a  henchman  of  yours  to  do 
your  dirty  campaign  work.  The  election  is  but  ten  days 
off.  Your  scheme  is  plain  enough.  But  if  you  want 


How  Civilisation  Was  Saved          161 

to  keep  these  men  in  prison  it  will  be  done  on  sworn 
evidence  of  guilt  and  a  warrant,  not  on  your  personal 
whim." 

The  Governor  cursed,  raved  and  threatened  in  vain. 
Judge  Rivers  discharged  every  prisoner  and  warned 
Colonel  Berry  against  the  repetition  of  such  arrests- 
within  his  jurisdiction. 

When  these  prisoners  were  discharged,  a  great  mass- 
meeting  was  called  to  give  them  a  reception  in  the 
public  square  of  Independence.  A  platform  was  hastily 
built  in  the  square,  and  that  night  five  thousand  excited 
people  crowded  past  the  stand,  shook  hands  with  the 
men  and  cheered  till  they  were  hoarse.  The  Governor 
watched  the  demonstration  in  helpless  fury  from  his 
room  in  the  hotel. 

The  speaking  began  at  nine  o'clock.  Every  discord 
ant  element  of  the  old  South's  furious  political  passions- 
was  now  melted  into  harmonious  unity.  Whig  and 
Democrat,  who  had  fought  one  another  with  relentless 
hatred,  sat  side  by  side  on  that  platform.  Secessionist 
and  Unionist  now  clasped  hands.  It  was  a  White 
Man's  Party,  and  against  it  stood  in  solid  array  the 
Black  Man's  Party,  led  by  Simon  Legree. 

Henceforth  there  could  be  but  one  issue — Are  you  a. 
White  Man  or  a  Negro? 

They  declared  there  was  but  one  question  to  be 
settled : 

"Shall  the  future  American  be  an  Anglo-Saxon  or  a 
Mulatto?" 

These  determined,  impassioned  men  believed  that 
this  question  was  more  important  than  any  theory  of 
tariff  or  finance,  and  that  it  was  larger  than  the 
South  or  even  the  nation,  and  held  in  its  solution  the 
brightest  hopes  of  the  progress  of  the  human  race. 
And  they  believed  that  they  were  ordained  of 


l62 

God  in  this  crisis  to  give  this  question  its  first  authori 
tative  answer. 

The  state  burst  into  a  flame  of  excitement  that  fused 
in  its  white  heat  the  whole  Anglo-Saxon  race. 

In  vain  Hogg  marched  and  countermarched  his 
twenty  thousand  state  troops.  They  only  added  fuel  to 
the  fire.  If  they  arrested  a  man,  he  became  forthwith  a 
hero  and  was  given  an  ovation.  They  sent  bands  of 
music  and  played  at  the  jail  doors,  and  the  ladies  filled 
the  jail  with  every  delicacy  that  could  tempt  the  appetite 
or  appeal  to  the  senses. 

Hogg  and  Legree  were  in  a  panic  of  fear  with  the 
certainty  of  defeat,  exposure  and  a  felon's  cell  yawning 
before  them. 

Two  days  before  the  election  the  prayer-meeting 
was  held  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  Baptist  church  at 
Hambright.  It  was  the  usual  midweek  service,  but  the 
attendance  was  unusually  large. 

After  the  meeting  the  Preacher,  Major  Damercn 
and  eleven  men  quietly  walked  back  to  the  church  and 
assembled  in  the  pastor's  study.  The  door  opened 
at  the  rear  of  the  church,  and  could  be  approached  by 
a  side  street. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Major  Dameron,  "I've  asked  you 
here  to-night  to  deliver  to  you  the  most  important  order 
I  have  ever  given,  and  to  have  Doctor  Durham  as  our 
chaplain  to  aid  me  in  impressing  on  you  its  great 
urgency." 

"We're  ready  for  orders,  Chief,"  said  young  Ambrose 
Kline,  the  Deacon's  son. 

"You  are  to  call  out  every  troop  of  the  Klan  in  full 
force  the  night  before  election.  You  are  to  visit  every 
Negro  in  the  county  and  warn  every  one,  as  he  values 
his  life,  not  to  approach  the  polls  at  this  election.  Those 
who  come  will  be  allowed  to  vote  without  molestation. 


How  Civilisation  Was  Saved  163 

All  cowards  will  stay  at  home.  Any  man,  black  or 
white,  who  can  be  scared  out  of  his  ballot  is  not  fit  to 
have  one.  Back  of  every  ballot  is  the  red  blood  of  the 
man  that  votes.  The  ballot  is  force.  This  is  simply  a 
test  of  manhood.  It  will  be  enough  to  show  who  is  fit 
to  rule  the  state.  As  the  masters  of  the  eleven  town 
ship  lodges  of  the  Klan,  you  are  the  sole  guardians  of 
society  to-day.  When  a  civilised  government  has  been 
restored  your  work  will  be  done." 

"We  will  do  it,  sir!  "cried  Kline. 

"Let  me  say,  men,"  said  the  Preacher,  "that  I 
heartily  indorse  the  plan  of  your  chief.  See  that  the 
work  is  done  thoroughly  and  it  will  be  done  for  all 
time.  In  a  sense  this  is  fraud,  but  it  is  the  fraud  of 
war.  The  spy  is  a  fraud,  but  we  must  use  him  when 
we  fight.  Is  war  justifiable? 

"It  is  too  late  now  for  us  to  discuss  that  question. 
We  are  in  a  war  the  most  ghastly  and  hellish  ever 
waged — a  war  on  women  and  children,  the  starving 
and  the  wounded,  and  that  with  sharpened  swords. 
The  Turk  and  Saracen  once  waged  such  a  war.  We 
must  face  it  and  fight  it  out.  Shall  we  flinch?" 

"No!  No!  "  came  the  passionate  answer  from  every 
man. 

"You  are  asked  to  violate  for  a  moment  a  statutory 
law.  There  is  a  higher  law.  You  are  the  sworn  officers 
of  that  higher  law." 

The  group  of  leaders  left  the  church  with  enthusiasm, 
and  on  the  following  night  they  carried  out  their 
instructions  to  the  letter. 

The  election  was  remarkably  quiet.  Thousands  of 
soldiers  were  used  at  the  polls  by  Hogg's  orders.  But 
they  seemed  to  make  no  impression  on  the  determined 
men  who  marched  up  between  their  files  and  put  the 
ballots  in  the  box. 


164  The  Leopard's  Spots 

Legree's  ticket  was  buried  beneath  an  avalanche. 
The  new  "Conservative"  party  carried  every  county 
in  the  state  save  twelve,  and  elected  one  hundred  and 
six  members  of  the  new  Legislature  out  of  a  total  of  one 
hundred  and  twenty. 

The  next  day  hundreds  of  carpet-bagger  thieves  fled 
to  the  North,  and  Legree  led  the  procession. 

Legree  had  on  deposit  in  New  York  two  millions  of 
dollars,  and  the  total  amount  of  his  part  of  the  thefts 
he  had  engineered  reached  five  millions.  He  opened 
an  office  on  Wall  Street,  bought  a  seat  in  the  Stock 
Exchange,  and  became  one  of  the  most  daring  and 
successful  of  a  group  of  robbers  who  preyed  on  the 
industries  of  the  nation. 

The  new  Legislature  appointed  a  fraud  commission 
which  uncovered  the  infamies  of  the  Legree  regime,  but 
every  thief  had  escaped.  They  promptly  impeached 
the  Governor  and  removed  him  from  office,  and  the 
old  commonwealth  once  more  lifted  up  her  head  and 
took  her  place  in  the  ranks  of  civilised  communities. 


CHAPTER  XXI 
THE  OLD  AND  THE  NEW  NEGRO 

NELSE  was  elated  over  the  defeat  and  dissolution 
of  the  Leagues  that  had  persecuted  him  with 
such  malignant  hatred.  When  the  news  of  the 
election  came  he  was  still  in  bed  suffering  from  his 
wounds.  He  had  received  an  internal  injury  that 
threatened  to  prove  fatal. 

"Dar  now!"  he  cried,  sitting  up  in  bed.  "Ain't  I 
done  tole  you  no  kinky-headed  niggers  gwine  ter  run 
dis  gov'ment." 

"Keep  still,  dar,  ole  man;  you'll  be  faintin'  ergin," 
worried  Aunt  Eve. 

"Na,  honey;  I'se  feelin'  better.  Gwine  ter  git  up  and 
meander  downtown  en  ax  dem  niggers  how's  de  Ku 
Kluxes  comin.'  on  dese  days." 

In  spite  of  all  Eve  could  say,  he  crawled  out  of  bed, 
fumbled  in  his  clothes,  and  started  downtown,  leaning 
heavily  on  his  cane.  He  had  gone  about  a  block  when 
he  suddenly  reeled  and  fell.  Eve  was  watching  him 
from  the  door  and  was  quickly  by  his  side.  He  died 
that  afternoon  at  three  o'clock.  He  regained  conscious 
ness  before  the  end  and  asked  Eve  for  his  banjo. 

He  put  it  lovingly  into  the  hands  of  Charlie  Gaston, 
who  stood  by  the  bed  crying. 

"  You  keep  'er,  honey.  You  lub  'er  talk  better'n  any 
body  in  de  worl',  en  'member  Nelse  when  you  hear  'er 
moan  an'  sigh.  En  when  she  talk  short  en  sassy  en 

165 


1 66  The  Leopard's  Spots 

make  'em  all  gin  ter  shuffle,  dat's  me,  too.  Dat's  me 
got  back  in  *er." 

Charlie  Gaston  rode  with  Aunt  Eve  to  the  cemetery. 
He  walked  back  home  through  the  fields  with  Dick. 

"  I  wouldn'  cry  'bout  er  ole  nigger  !  "  said  Dick,  look 
ing  into  his  reddened  eyes. 

"Can't  help  it.     He  was  my  best  friend." 

"Hain't  I  wid  you?" 

"Yes,  but  you  ain't  Nelse." 

"Well,  I  stan'  by  you  des  de  same." 


CHAPTER  XXII 
THE  DANGER  OF  PLAYING  WITH  FIRE 

THE  following  Saturday  the  Reverend  John 
Durham  preached  at  a  cross-roads  schoolhouse 
in  the  woods  about  ten  miles  from  Hambright. 
He  preached  every  Saturday  in  the  year  at  such  a  mis 
sion  station.  He  was  fond  of  taking  Charlie  with  him 
on  these  trips.  There  was  an  unusually  large  crowd  in 
attendance,  and  the  Preacher  was  much  pleased  at  this 
evidence  of  interest.  It  had  been  a  hard  community 
to  impress.  At  the  close  of  the  services,  while  the 
Preacher  was  shaking  hands  with  the  people,  Charlie 
elbowed  his  way  rapidly  among  the  throng  to  his  side. 

"Doctor,  there's  a  nigger  man  out  at  the  buggy  says 
he  wants  to  see  you  quick,"  he  whispered. 

"All  right,  Charlie;  in  a  minute." 

"Says  to  come  right  now.  It's  a  matter  of  life  and 
death,  and  he  don't  want  to  come  into  the  crowd." 

A  troubled  look  flashed  over  the  Preacher's  face  and 
he  hastily  followed  the  boy,  fearing  now  a  sinister 
meaning  to  his  great  crowd. 

"Preacher,"  said  the  Negro,  looking  timidly  around, 
"de  Ku  Klux  is  gwine  ter  kill  ole  Uncle  Rufus  Latti- 
more  ter-night.  I  come  ter  see  ef  you  can't  save  him. 
He  aint  done  nuthin'  in  God's  worl'  'cept  he  wouldn' 
pull  his  waggin  clear  outen  de  road  one  day  fur  dat  red 
headed  Allan  McLeod  ter  pass,  en  he  cussed  'im  black 
and  blue  en  tole  'im  he  gwine  git  eben  wid  'im." 

"How  do  you  know  this?  " 

.167 


1 68  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"I  wuz  huntin'  in  de  woods  en  hear  a  racket  en  dim* 
er  tree.  En  de  Ku  Kluxes  had  der  meetin'  right  under 
de  tree.  En  I  hear  ev'ry  word." 

"Who  was  leading  the  crowd?" 

"Dat  Allan  McLeod  en  Hose  Norman." 

"Where  are  they  going  to  meet?" 

"Right  at  de  cross-roads  here  at  de  schoolhouse  at 
midnight.  Dey  sont  er  man  atter  plenty  er  licker  en 
iey  gwine  ter  git  drunk  fust.  I  was  erfeered  ter  come 
ter  de  meetin'  case  I  see  er  lot  er  de  boys  in  de  crowd. 
Fur  de  Lawd  sake,  Preacher,  do  save  de  ole  man.  He 
des  es  harmless  ez  er  chile.  En  I'm  gwine  ter  marry 
his  gal,  en  she  des  plum  crazy.  We'se  got  five  men 
ter  fight  fur  'im,  but  I  spec  dey  kill  'em  all  ef  you  can't 
he'p  us." 

"Are  you  one  of  General  Worth's  Negroes?  " 

"Yassir.  I  run  erway  up  here,  'bout  dat  Free'men's 
Bureau  trick  dey  put  me  up  ter,  but  I'se  larned  better 
sense  now. ' ' 

"Well,  Sam,  you  go  to  Uncle  Rufus  and  tell  him  not 
to  be  afraid.  I'll  stop  this  business  before  night." 

The  Negro  stepped  into  the  woods  and  disappeared. 

"Charlie,  we  must  hurry,"  said  the  Preacher,  springing 
in  his  buggy.  He  was  driving  a  beautiful  bay  mare,  a 
gift  from  a  Kentucky  friend.  Her  sleek,  glistening 
skin  and  big  round  veins  showed  her  fine  blood. 

"Well,  Nancy,  it's  your  life  now  or  a  man's,  or 
maybe  a  dozen.  You  must  take  us  to  Hambright  in 
fifty  minutes  over  these  rough  hills ! "  cried  the 
Preacher.  And  he  gave  her  the  reins. 

The  mare  bounded  forward  with  a  rush  that  sent  four 
spinning  circles  of  sand  and  dust  from  each  wheel. 
She  had  seldom  felt  the  lines  slacken  across  her  beautiful 
back  except  in  some  great  emergency.  She  swung 
past  buggies  and  wagons  without  a  pause.  The  people 


The  Danger  of  Playing  with  Fire     169 

wondered  why  the  Preacher  was  in  such  a  hurry.  Over 
long  sand  stretches  of  heavy  road  the  mare  flew  in  a 
cloud  of  dust.  The  Preacher's  lips  were  firmly  set 
and  a  scowl  on  his  brow.  They  had  made  five  miles 
without  slacking  up. 

The  mare  was  now  a  mass  of  white  foam,  her  big- 
veined  nostrils  wide  open  and  quivering,  and  her  eyes 
flashing  with  the  fire  of  proud  ancestry.  The  slackened 
lines  on  her  back  seemed  to  her  an  insufferable  insult. 

"Doctor,  you'll  kill  Nancy!"  pleaded  Charlie. 

"Can't  help  it,  son;  there's  a  lot  of  drunken  devils, 
masquerading  as  Ku  Klux,  going  to  kill  a  man  to-night. 
If  we  can't  reach  Major  Dameron's  in  time  for  him  to 
get  a  lot  of  men  and  stop  them  there'll  be  a  terrible 
tragedy." 

On  the  mare  flew,  lifting  her  proud,  sensitive  head 
higher  and  higher,  while  her  heart  beat  her  foaming 
flanks  like  a  trip-hammer.  She  never  slackened  her 
speed  for  ten  miles,  but  dashed  up  to  Major  Dameron's 
gate  at  sundown,  just  forty-nine  minutes  from  the  time 
she  started.  The  Preacher  patted  her  dripping  neck. 

"Good,  Nancy,  good  !  I  believe  you've  got  a  soul." 

She  stood  with  her  head  still  high,  pawing  the  ground. 

"  Major  Dameron,  I've  driven  my  mare  here  at  a 
killing  speed  to  tell  you  that  young  McLeod  and  Hose 
Norman  have  a  crowd  of  desperadoes  organised  to  kill 
old  Rufus  Lattimore  to-night.  You  must  get  enough 
men  together  and  get  there  in  time  to  stop  them. 
Sam  Worth  overheard  their  plot,  knows  every  one  of 
them,  and  there  will  be  a  battle  if  they  attempt  it." 

"My  God!"  exclaimed  the  Major. 

"You  haven't  a  minute  to  spare.  They  are  already 
loading  up  on  moonshine  whisky." 

"Doctor  Durham,  this  is  the  end  of  the  Ku  Klux 
Klan  in  this  county.  I'll  break  up  every  lodge  in  the 


170  The  Leopard's  Spots 

next  forty-eight  hours.  It's  too  easy  for  vicious  men 
to  abuse  it.  Its  power  is  too  great.  Besides,  its  work 
is  done." 

"  I  was  just  going  to  ask  you  to  take  that  step,  Major. 
And  now,  for  God's  sake,  get  there  in  time  to-night. 
I'd  go  with  you,  but  my  mare  can't  stand  it." 

"I'll  be  there  on  time — never  fear,"  replied  the 
Major,  springing  on  his  horse,  already  saddled  at  the 
door. 

The  Preacher  drove  slowly  to  his  home,  the  mare 
pulling  steadily  on  her  lines.  She  walked  proudly  into 
her  stable  lot,  her  head  high  and  fine  eyes  flashing, 
reeled  and  fell  dead  in  the  shafts.  The  Preacher 
couldn't  keep  back  the  tears.  He  called  Dick  and 
left  him  and  Charlie  the  sorrowful  task  of  taking  off 
her  harness.  He  hurried  into  the  house  and  shut 
himself  up  in  his  study. 

That  night  when  the  crowd  of  young  toughs  assembled 
at  their  rendezvous  it  was  barely  ten  o'clock. 

Suddenly  a  pistol  shot  rang  from  behind  the  school- 
house,  and  before  McLeod  and  his  crowd  knew  what 
had  happened  fifty  white  horsemen  wheeled  into  a 
circle  about  them.  They  were  completely  surprised 
and  cowed. 

Major  Dameron  rode  up  to  McLeod. 

"Young  man,  you  are  the  prisoner  of  the  Chief  of  the 
Ku  Klux  Klan  of  Campbell  County.  Lift  your  hand 
now  and  I'll  hang  you  in  five  minutes.  You  have 
forfeited  your  life  by  disobedience  to  my  orders.  You  go 
back  to  Hambright  with  me  under  guard.  Whether  I 
execute  you  depends  on  the  outcome  of  the  next  two 
days 'conferences  with  the  chiefs  of  the  township  lodges." 

The  Major  wheeled  his  horse  and  rode  home.  The 
next  day  he  ordered  every  one  of  the  eleven  township 
chiefs  to  report  in  person  to  him,  at  different  hours  the 


The  Danger  of  Playing  with  Fire      171 

same  day.  To  each  one  his  message  was  the  same. 
He  dissolved  the  order  and  issued  a  perpetual  injunc 
tion  against  any  division  of  the  Klan  ever  going  on 
another  raid. 

There  were  only  a  few  who  could  see  the  wisdom  of 
such  hasty  action.  The  success  had  been  so  marvellous, 
their  power  so  absolute,  it  seemed  a  pity  to  throw  it  all 
away.  Young  Kline  especially  begged  the  Major  to 
postpone  his  action. 

"  It's  impossible,  Kline.  The  Klan  has  done  its  work. 
The  carpet-baggers  have  fled.  The  state  is  redeemed 
from  the  infamies  of  a  Negro  government,  and  we  have 
a  clean,  economical  administration,  and  we  can  keep  it 
so  as  long  as  the  white  people  are  a  unit,  without  any 
secret  societies." 

"But,  Major,  we  may  be  needed  again." 

"I  can't  assume  the  responsibility  any  longer.  The 
thing  is  getting  beyond  my  control.  The  order  is  full  of 
wild  youngsters  and  revengeful  men.  They  try  to 
bring  their  grudges  against  neighbours  into  the  order, 
and  when  I  refuse  to  authorise  a  raid  they  take  their 
disguises  and  go  without  authority.  An  archangel 
couldn't  command  such  a  force." 

Within  two  weeks  from  the  dissolution  of  the  Klan 
by  its  Chief,  every  lodge  had  bee'i  reorganised.  Some 
of  the  older  men  had  dropped  out,  but  more  young  men 
were  initiated  to  take  their  places.  Allan  McLeod  led 
in  this  work  of  prompt  reorganisation,  and  was  elected 
Chief  of  the  county  by  the  younger  element,  which  now 
had  a  large  majority. 

He  at  once  served  notice  on  Major  Dameron,  the 
former  Chief,  that  if  he  dared  to  interfere  with  his  work, 
even  by  opening  his  mouth  in  criticism,  he  would  order 
a  raid  and  thrash  him. 

When  the  Major  found  this  note  under  his  door  one 


172  The  Leopard's  Spots 

morning,  he  read  and  reread  it  with  increasing  wrath. 
Springing  on  his  horse,  he  went  in  search  of  McLeod. 
He  saw  him  leisurely  crossing  the  street  going  from  the 
hotel  to  the  court-house. 

Throwing  his  horse's  rein  to  a  passing  boy,  he  walked 
rapidly  to  him  and,  without  a  word,  boxed  his  ears  as 
a  father  would  an  impudent  child.  McLeod  was  so 
astonished,  he  hesitated  for  a  moment  whether  to 
strike  or  to  run.  He  did  neither,  but  blushed  red  and 
stammered: 

"What  do  you  mean,  sir?" 

"  Read  that  letter,  you  young  whelp !  "  The  Major 
thrust  the  letter  into  his  hand. 

"I  know  nothing  of  this." 

"You're  a  liar.  You  are  its  author.  No  other  fool 
in  this  county  would  have  conceived  it.  Now,  let  me 
give  you  a  little  notice.  I  am  prepared  for  you  and 
your  crowd.  Call  any  time.  I  can  whip  a  hundred 
puppies  of  your  breed  any  time  by  myself  with  one 
hand  tied  behind  me,  and  never  get  a  scratch.  Dare  to 
lift  your  finger  against  me,  or  any  of  the  men  who  refuse 
to  go  with  your  new  fool's  movement,  and  I'll  shoot 
you  on  sight  as  I  would  a  mad  dog."  Before  McLeod 
could  reply,  the  Major  turned  on  his  heels  and  left  him. 

McLeod  made  no  further  attempt  to  molest  the 
Major,  nor  did  he  allow  any  raids  bent  on  murder.  The 
sudden  authority  placed  in  his  hands  in  a  measure 
sobered  him.  He  inaugurated  a  series  of  petty  devil 
tries,  whipping  Negroes  and  poor  white  men  against 
whom  some  of  his  crowd  had  a  grudge,  and  annoying 
the  school-teachers  of  Negro  schools. 


CHAPTER    XXIII 
THE  BIRTH  OF  A  SCALAWAG 

THE  overwhelming  defeat  of  their  pets  in  the 
South,  and  the  toppling  of  their  houses  of  paper 
built  on  Negro  supremacy,  brought  to  Congress 
a  sense  of  guilt  and  shame  that  required  action.  Their 
own  agents  in  the  South  were  now  in  the  penitentiary 
or  in  exile  for  well-established  felonies,  and  the  future 
looked  dark. 

They  found  the  scapegoat  in  these  fool  later  day 
Ku  Klux  marauders.  Once  more  the  public  square  at 
Hambright  saw  the  bivouac  of  the  regular  troops  of 
the  United  States  Army.  The  Preacher  saw  the  glint 
of  their  bayonets  with  a  sense  of  relief. 

With  this  army  came  a  corps  of  skilled  detectives, 
who  set  to  work.  All  that  was  necessary  was  to  arrest 
and  threaten  with  summary  death  a  coward,  and  they 
got  all  the  information  he  could  give.  The  jail  was 
choked  with  prisoners,  and  every  day  saw  a  squad  depart 
for  the  stockade  at  Independence.  Sam  Worth  gave 
information  that  led  to  the  immediate  arrest  of  Allan 
McLeod.  He  was  the  first  man  led  into  the  jail. 

The  officers  had  a  long  conference  with  him  that 
lasted  four  hours. 

And  then  the  bottom  fell  out — a  wild  stampede  of 
young  men  for  the  West.  Somebody  who  held  the 
names  of  every  man  in  the  order  had  proved  a  traitor. 

Every  night  from  hundreds  of  humble  homes  might 
be  heard  the  choking  sobs  of  a  mother  saying  good-by 

173 


174  The  Leopard's  Spots 

in  the  darkness  to  the  last  boy  the  war  had  left  her  old 
age.  When  the  good-by  was  said,  and  the  father, 
waiting  in  the  buggy  at  the  gate,  had  called  for  haste, 
and  the  boy  was  hurrying  out  with  his  gripsack,  there 
was  a  moan,  the  soft  rush  of  the  coarse  homespun 
dress  toward  the  gate,  and  her  arms  were  around 
his  neck  again. 

"I  can't  let  you  go,  child.  Lord  have  mercy!  He's 
the  last."  And  the  low,  pitiful  sobs ! 

"Come,  come,  now,  Ma,  we  must  get  away  from 
here  before  the  officers  are  after  him." 

"Just  a  minute  !  " 

A  kiss,  and  then  another,  long  and  lingering.  A  sigh, 
a  smothered  cry  from  a  mother's  broken  heart,  and 
he  was  gone. 

Thus  Texas  grew  into  the  Imperial  Commonwealth 
of  the  South. 

•  •*•••• 

To  save  appearances,  McLeod  was  removed  to  Inde 
pendence  with  the  other  prisoners,  and  in  a  short 
time  released  with  a  number  of  others  against  whom 
insignificant  charges  were  lodged. 

When  he  returned  to  Hambright  the  people  looked 
at  him  with  suspicion. 

"How  is  it,  young  man,"  asked  the  Preacher,  "that 
you  are  at  home  so  soon,  while  brave  boys  are  serving 
terms  in  Northern  prisons?" 

"Had  nothing  against  me,"  he  replied. 

"That's  strange,  when  Sam  Worth  swore  that  you 
organised  the  raid  to  kill  Rufe  Lattimore." 

"They  didn't  believe  him." 

"Well,  I've  an  idea  that  you  saved  your  hide  by 
puking.  I'm  not  sure  yet,  but  information  was  given 
that  only  the  man  in  command  of  the  whole  county 
could  have  possessed." 


The  Birth  of  a  Scalawag  175 

"There  were  a  half-dozen  men  who  knew  as  much 
as  I  did.  You  mustn't  think  me  capable  of  such  a 
thing,  Doctor  Durham ! "  protested  McLeod,  with 
heightened  colour. 

"It's  a  nasty  suspicion.  I'd  rather  see,  a  child  of 
mine  transformed  into  a  cur  dog  and  killed  for  stealing 
sheep  than  fall  to  the  level  of  such  a  man.  But  only 
time  will  prove  the  issue." 

"I've  made  up  my  mind  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf," 
said  McLeod.  "I'm  sick  of  rowdyism.  I'm  going  to 
be  a  law-abiding,  loyal  citizen." 

"That's  just  what  I'm  afraid  of!"  exclaimed  the 
Preacher  with  a  sneer,  as  he  turned  and  left  him. 

And  fears  were  soon  confirmed.  Within  a  month 
the  Independsnct  Observer  contained  a  despatch  from 
Washington  announcing  the  appointment  of  Allan 
McLeod  as  Deputy  United  States  Marshal  for  the  District 
of  Western  North  Carolina,  together  with  the  infor 
mation  that  he  had  renounced  his  allegiance  to  his  old 
disloyal  associates  and  had  become  an  enthusiastic 
Republican;  and  that  henceforth  he  would  labour  with 
might  and  main  to  establish  peace  and  further  the 
industrial  progress  of  the  South. 

"I  knew  it.  The  dirty  whelp !  "  cried  the  Preacher, 
as  he  showed  the  paper  to  his  wife. 

"  Now  don't  be  too  hard  on  the  boy,  Doctor  Durham/' 
urged  his  wife.  "He  may  be  sincere  in  his  change  of 
politics.  You  never  did  like  him." 

"Sincere!  Yes,  as  the  devil  is  always  sincere.  He's 
dead  in  earnest  now.  He's  found  his  level,  and  his 
success  is  sure.  Mark  my  words,  the  boy's  a  villain 
from  the  crown  of  his  head  to  the  soles  of  his  feet.  He 
has  bartered  his  soul  to  save  his  skin,  and  the  skin  is 
all  that's  left." 

"I'm  sorry  to  think  it.     I  couldn't  help  liking  him." 


176  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"And  that's  the  funniest  freak  I  ever  knew  your 
fancy  to  take,  my  dear — I  never  could  understand  it." 

When  McLeod  had  established  his  office  in  Hambright, 
he  made  special  efforts  to  allay  the  suspicions  against 
his  name.  His  indignant  denials  of  the  report  of  his 
treachery  convinced  many  that  he  had  been  wronged, 
Two  men  alone  maintained  toward  him  an  attitude  of 
contempt,  Major  Darneron  and  the  Preacher. 

He  called  on  Mrs.  Durham,  and  with  his  smooth 
tongue  convinced  her  that  he  had  been  foully  slandered. 
She  urged  him  to  win  the  Doctor.  Accordingly  he 
called  to  talk  the  question  over  with  the  Preacher  and 
ask  him  for  a  fair  chance  to  build  his  character  untar 
nished  in  the  community. 

The  Preacher  heard  him  through  patiently,  but  in 
silence.  Allan  was  perspiring  before  he  reached  the  end 
of  his  plausible  explanation.  It  was  a  tougher  task 
than  he  thought,  this  deliberate  lying,  under  the  gaze 
of  those  glowing  black  eyes  that  looked  out  from  their 
shaggy  brows  and  pierced  through  his  inmost  soul. 

"You've  got  an  oily  tongue.  It  will  carry  you  a  long 
way  in  this  world.  I  can't  help  admiring  the  skill 
with  which  you  are  fast  learning  to  use  it.  You've 
fooled  Mrs.  Durham  with  it,  but  you  can't  fool  me," 
said  the  Preacher. 

"  Doctor,  I  solemnly  swear  to  you  that  I  am  not 
guilty." 

"It's  no  use  to  add  perjury  to  plain  lying.  I  know 
you  did  it.  I  know  it  as  well  as  if  I  were  present  in 
that  jail  and  heard  you  basely  betray  the  men,  name 
by  name,  whom  you  had  lured  to  their  ruin." 

"Doctor,  I  swear  you  are  mistaken." 

"Don't  talk  about  it.  You  nauseate  me!" 

The  Preacher  sprang  to  his  feet,  paced  across  the 
floor,  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  his  table  and  glared  at 


The  Birth  of  a  Scalawag  177 

McLeod  for  a  moment.  And  then  with  his  voice  low 
and  quivering  with  a  storm  of  emotion  he  said: 

"The  curse  of  God  upon  you — the  God  of  your 
fathers !  Your  fathers  in  far  off  Scotland's  hills,  who 
would  have  suffered  their  tongues  torn  from  their  heads 
and  their  skin  stripped  inch  by  inch  from  their  flesh 
sooner  than  betray  one  of  their  clan  in  distress.  You 
have  betrayed  a  thousand  of  your  own  men,  and  you 
their  sworn  chieftain.  Hell  was  made  to  consume 
such  leper  trash!" 

McLeod  was  dazed  at  first  by  this  outburst.  At 
length  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  livid  with  rage. 

"I'll  not  forget  this,  sir !  "  he  hissed. 

"Don't  forget  it!"  cried  the  Preacher,  trembling 
with  passion  as  he  opened  the  door.  "Go  on  and  live 
your  lie." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
A    MODERN    MIRACLE 

MRS.  DURHAM,  the  Doctor  wants  you,"  said 
Charlie,  when  McLeod's  footfall  had  died 
away. 

"Charlie,  dear,  why  don't  you  call  me  'Mamma' — 
surely  you  love  me  a  little  wee  bit,  don't  you?"  she 
asked,  taking  the  boy's  hand  tenderly  in  hers. 

"Yes'm,"  he  replied,  hanging  his  head. 

"Then  you  say  Mamma.  You  don't  know  how  good 
it  would  be  in  my  ears." 

"I  try  to,  but  it  chokes  me,"  he  half  whispered, 
glancing  timidly  up  at  her.  "Let  me  call  you  Aunt 
Margaret.  I  always  wanted  an  aunt,  and  I  think  your 
name  Margaret's  so  sweet,"  he  shyly  added. 

She  kissed  him  and  said,  "All  right,  if  that's  all  you 
will  give  me."  She  passed  on  into  the  library  where 
the  Preacher  waited  her. 

"My  dear,  I've  just  given  young  McLeod  a  piece  of 
my  mind.  I  wanted  to  say  to  you  that  you  are  entirely 
mistaken  in  his  character.  He's  a  bad  egg.  I  know  all 
the  facts  about  his  treachery.  He's  as  smooth  a  liar 
as  I've  met  in  years." 

"With  all  his  brute  nature,  there's  some  good  in 
him,"  she  persisted. 

"Well,  it  will  stay  in  him.  He  will  never  let  it 
get  out." 

"All  right,   have  your  way   about   it   for   a   time. 

178 


A  Modem  Miracle  179 

We'll  see  who  is  right  in  the  long  run.  Now  I've  a 
more  pressing  and  tougher  problem  for  your  solution." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Dick." 

"What's  he  done  this  time?  " 

"  He  steals  everything  he  can  get  his  hands  on.'* 

"He  is  a  puzzle." 

"He's  the  greatest  liar  I  ever  saw,"  she  continued. 
"He  simply  will  not  tell  the  truth  if  he  can  think  up 
a  lie  in  time.  I'd  say  run  him  off  the  place  but  for 
Charlie.  He  seems  to  love  the  little  scoundrel.  I'm 
afraid  his  influence  over  Charlie  will  be  vicious,  but  it 
would  break  the  child's  heart  to  drive  him  away, 
What  shall  we  do  with  him?  " 

The  Preacher  laughed.  "I  give  it  up,  my  dear;  you've 
got  beyond  my  depth  now.  I  don't  know  whether  he's 
got  a  soul.  Certainly  the  very  rudimentary  foundations 
of  morals  seem  lacking.  I  believe  you  could  take  a 
young  ape  and  teach  him  quicker.  I  leave  him  with 
you.  At  present  it's  a  domestic  problem." 

"Thanks;  that's  so  encouraging." 

Dick  was  a  puzzle  and  no  mistake  about  it.  But  to 
Charlie  his  rolling,  mischievous  eyes,  his  cunning  fingers 
and  his  wayward  imagination  were  unfailing  fountains 
of  life.  He  found  every  bird's  nest  within  two  miles  of 
town.  He  could  track  a  rabbit  almost  as  swiftly  and 
surely  as  a  hound.  He  could  work  like  fury  when  he 
had  a  mind  to,  and  loaf  a  half  day  over  one  row  of  the 
garden  when  he  didn't  want  to  work,  which  was  his 
chronic  condition. 

When  the  revival  season  set  in  for  the  Negroes  in 
the  summer,  the  days  of  sorrow  began  for  householders. 
Every  Negro  in  the  community  became  absolutely 
worthless  and  remained  so  until  the  emotional  insanity 
attending  their  meetings  wore  off. 


180  The  Leopard's  Spots 

Aunt  Mary,  Mrs.  Durham's  cook,  got  salvation  over 
again  every  summer  with  increasing  power  and  increas 
ing  degeneration  in  her  work.  Some  nights  she  got 
home  at  two  o'clock  and  breakfast  was  not  ready  until 
nine.  Some  nights  she  didn't  get  home  at  all  and  Mrs. 
\  Durham  had  to  get  breakfast  herself. 

It  was  a  hard  time  for  Dick,  who  had  not  yet  experi 
enced  religion,  and  on  whom  fell  the  brunt  of  the  extra 
work  and  Mrs.  Durham's  fretfulness  besides. 

"I  tell  you  what  less  do,  Charlie,"  he  cried  one  day. 
"Less  go  down  ter  dat  nigger  chu'ch  en  bus'  up  de 
meetin* !  I'se  gettin'  tired  er  dis." 

"How'll  you  do  it?" 

"I  show  you  somefin'?"  He  reached  under  his 
shirt  next  to  his  skin  and  pulled  out  Doctor  Graham's 
sun  glass. 

"Where'd    you   get    that,    Dick?" 

"Foun'  it  whar  er  man  lef  it."  He  walled  his  eyes 
solemnly. 

"Des  watch  here  when  I  turns  'im  in  de  sun.  I  kin 
set  dat  pile  of  straw  er  fire  wid  it." 

"You  mustn't  set  the  church  afire  !  "  warned  Charlie. 

"Naw,  chile;  but  I  git  up  in  de  gallery,  en  when  ole 
Uncle  Josh  'gins  ter  holler  en  bawl  en  r'ar  en  charge,  I 
fling  dat  blaze  er  light  right  on  his  bal'  haid,  en  I  set  him 
er  fire  sho's  you  bawn." 

"Dick,  I  wouldn't  do  it,"  said  Charlie,  laughing  in 
spite  of  himself. 

Charlie  refused  to  accompany  him.  But  Dick's  mind 
was  set  on  the  necessity  of  this  work  of  reform.  So 
in  the  afternoon  he  slipped  off  without  leave  and 
quietly  made  his  way  into  the  gallery  of  the  Negro 
Baptist  church. 

The  excitement  was  running  high.  Uncle  Josh  had 
preached  one  sermon  an  hour  in  length,  and  had  called 


A  Modern  Miracle  181 

up  the  mourners.  At  least  fifty  had  come  forward. 
The  benches  had  been  cleared  for  five  rows  back  from 
the  pulpit  to  give  plenty  of  room  for  the  mourners 
to  crawl  over  the  floor,  walk  back  and  forth  and  shout 
when  they  "  came  through,"  and  for  their  friends  to 
fan  them. 

This  open  place  was  covered  with  wheat  straw  to 
keep  the  mourners  off  the  bare  floor  and,  afford  some 
sort  of  comfort  for  those  far  advanced  in  mourning, 
who  went  into  trances  and  sometimes  lay  motionless 
for  hours  on  their  backs  or  flat  on  their  faces. 

The  mourners  had  kicked  and  shuffled  this  straw  out 
to  the  edges  and  the  floor  was  bare.  Uncle  Josh  had 
sent  two  deacons  out  for  more  straw. 

In  the  meantime  he  was  working  himself  up  to 
another  mighty  climax  of  exhortation  to  move  sinners 
to  come  forward. 

"Come  on  ter  glory,  you  po',  po'  sinners,  en  flee  ter  de 
Lamb  er  God  befo'  de  flames  er  hell  swaller  you  whole ! 
At  de  last  great  day  de  Sperit  '11  flash  de  light  er  his 
shinin'  face  on  dis  ole  parch  up,  sinful  worl',  en  hit  '11 
ketch  er  fire  in  er  minute,  an'  de  yearth  '11  melt  wid 
furvient  heat !  Wha  '11  you  be  den,  po'  tremblin'  sinner  ? 
Whar  '11  you  be  when  de  flame  er  de  Sperit  smites  de 
moon  and  de  stars  wid  fire,  en  dey  'gin  ter  drap  outen 
de  sky  en  knock  big  holes  in  de  burnin'  yearth  ?  Whar 
'11  you  be  when  de  rocks  melt  wid  dat  heat,  en  de  sun 
hide  his  face  in  de  black  smoke  dat  rise  fum  de  pit  ?" 

Moans  and  groans  and  shrieks,  louder  and  louder,  filled 
the  air.  Uncle  Josh  paused  a  moment  and  looked  for 
his  deacons  with  the  straw.  They  were  just  coming 
up  the  steps  with  a  great  armful  over  their  heads. 

"  What's  de  matter  wid  you  breddern !  Fetch  on  that 
wheat  straw !  Here's  dese  tremblin'  souls  gwine  down 
inter  de  flames  er  heil  des  fur  de  lak  er  wheat  straw!  " 


1 82  The  Leopard's  Spots 

The  brethren  hurried  forward  with  the  wheat  straw, 
and  just  as  they  reached  Uncle  Josh,  standing  perspiring 
in  the  midst  of  his  groaning  mourners,  Dick  flashed  from 
the  gallery  a  stream  of  dazzling  light  on  the  old  man's 
face  and  held  it  steadily  on  his  bald  head.  Josh  was  too 
astonished  to  move  at  first.  He  was  simply  paralysed 
with  fear.  It  is  all  right  to  talk  about  the  flame  of 
the  Spirit,  but  he  wasn't  exactly  ready  to  run  into  it. 
Suddenly  he  clapped  his  hands  on  the  top  of  his  head 
and  sprang  straight  up  in  the  air,  yelling  in  a  plain, 
every-day  profane  voice. 

' '  God-der-mighty  !     What 's  dat  ? " 

The  brethren  holding  the  straw  saw  it  and  stood 
dumb  with  terror.  The  light  disappeared  from  Uncle 
Josh's  head  and  lit  the  straw  in  splendour  on  one  of  the 
deacon's  shoulders.  Aunt  Mary's  voice  was  heard 
above  the  mourners'  din,  clear,  shrill  and  soul-piercing. 

"G-1-o-r-y!  G-1-o-r-y  ter  God!  De  flame  er  de 
Sperit !  De  judgment  day !  Yas,  Lawd,  I'se  here ! 
Glory!  Halleluyah!" 

Suddenly  the  straw  on  the  deacon's  back  burst  into 
flames.  And  pandemonium  broke  loose.  A  weak- 
minded  sinner  screamed.  "  De  flames  er  Hell ! " 

The  mourners  smelled  the  smoke  and  sprang  from 
the  floor  with  white  staring  eyes.  When  they  saw  the 
fire  and  got  their  bearings  they  made  for  the  open — 
they  jumped  on  each  other's  back  and  made  for  the 
door  like  madmen.  Those  nearest  the  windows  sprang 
through,  and  when  the  lower  part  of  the  window  was 
jammed,  big  buck  Negroes  jumped  on  the  backs  of  the 
lower  crowd  and  plunged  through  the  two  upper  sashes 
with  a  crash  that  added  new  terror  to  the  panic. 

In  two  minutes  the  church  was  empty  and  the  yard 
full  of  crazy,  shouting  Negroes. 

Dick  stepped  from  the  gallery  into  the  crowd  as  the 


A  Modern  Miracle  183 

last  ones  emerged,  ran  up  to  the  pulpit  and  stamped 
out  the  fire  in  the  straw  with  his  bare  feet.  He 
looked  around  to  see  if  they  had  left  anything  valuable 
behind  in  the  stampede,  and  sauntered  leisurely  out  of 
the  church. 

"Now,  dog-gone  'em,  let  'em  yell!"  he  muttered  to 
himself. 

When  Uncle  Josh  sufficiently  recovered  his  senses 
to  think,  and  saw  the  church  still  standing,  with  riot 
even  a  whiff  of  smoke  to  be  seen,  instead  of  the  roaring 
furnace  he  had  expected,  he  was  amazed.  He  called 
his  scattered  deacons  together  and  they  went  cautiously 
back  to  investigate. 

"Hit's  no  use  in  talkin',  Bre'r  Josh,  dey  sho*  wuz  er 
fire  !  "  cried  one  of  the  deacons. 

"Sho's  de  Lawd's  in  heaben.  I  feel  it  gittin'  on  my 
fingers  'fo'  I  drap  dat  straw,"  said  another. 

"Hit  smite  me  fust  right  on  top  er  my  haid,"  whis 
pered  Uncle  Josh  in  awe. 

They  cautiously  approached  the  pulpit,  and  there  in 
front  of  it  lay  the  charred  fragments  of  the  burned 
straw  pile. 

They  gathered  around  it  in  awestruck  wonder.  One 
of  them  touched  it  with  his  foot. 

"Doan'  do  dat!  "  cried  Uncle  Josh,  lifting  his  hand 
with  authority. 

They  drew  back.  Uncle  Josh  saw  the  immense  power 
in  that  heap  of  charred  straw.  Some  of  it  was  a  little 
damp  and  it  had  been  only  partly  burned. 

"Dar's  de  mericle  er  de  Sperit !"  he  solemnly 
declared. 

"Yas,  Lawd!"  echoed  a  deacon. 

"Fetch  de  hammer,  en  de  saw,  en  de  nails,  en  de 
boards,  en  build  right  dar  en  altar  ter  de  Sperit,"  were 
his  prophetic  commands. 


184  The  Leopard's  Spots 

And  they  did.  They  got  an  old  show-case  of  glass, 
put  the  charred  straw  in  it,  and  built  an  open  box- work 
around  it  just  where  it  fell  in  front  of  the  pulpit. 

Then  a  revival  broke  out  that  completely  paralysed 
the  industries  of  Campbell  County.  Every  Negro 
stopped  work  and  went  to  that  church.  Uncle  Josh 
didn't  have  to  preach  or  to  plead.  They  came  in  troops 
toward  the  magic  altar,  whose  fame  and  mystery  had 
thrilled  every  superstitious  soul  with  its  power.  The 
benches  were  all  moved  out  and  the  whole  church  floor 
given  up  to  mourners.  Uncle  Josh  had  an  easy  time 
walking  around,  just  adding  a  few  terrifying  hints 
to  trembling  sinners,  or  helping  to  hold  some  strong 
sister  when  she  had  "come  through,"  with  so 
much  glory  in  her  bones  that  there  was  danger  she 
•would  hurt  somebody. 

After  a  week  the  matter  became  so  serious  that  the 
white  people  set  in  motion  an  investigation  of  the  affair. 
Dick  had  thrown  out  a  mysterious  hint  that  he  knew 
some  things  that  were  very  funny. 

"Doan'  you  tell  nobody!"  he  would  solemnly  say  to 
Charlie. 

And  then  he  would  lie  down  on  the  grass  and  roll  and 
laugh.  At  length  by  dint  of  perseverance,  and  a  bribe 
of  a  quarter,  the  Preacher  induced  Dick  to  explain  the 
mystery.  He  did,  and  it  broke  up  the  meeting. 

Uncle  Josh's  fury  knew  no  bounds.  He  was  heart 
broken  at  the  sudden  collapse  of  his  revival,  chagrined  at 
the  recollection  of  his  own  terror  at  the  fire,  and  fearful 
of  an  avalanche  of  backsliders  from  the  meeting  among 
those  who  had  professed  even  with  the  greatest  glory. 

He  demanded  that  the  Preacher  should  turn  Dick 
over  to  him  for  correction.  The  Preacher  took  a  few 
hours  to  consider  whether  he  should  whip  him  himself 
w  turn  him  over  to  Uncle  Josh.  Dick  heard  Uncle 


A  Modern  Miracle  185 

Josh's  demand.  Out  behind  the  stable  he  and  Charlie 
neld  a  council  of  war. 

"You  go  see  Miss  Mar'get  fur  me  en  git  up  close  to 
her,  en  tell  her  'tain't  right  ter  'low  no  low-down 
black  nigger  ter  whip  me." 

"All  right,  Dick,  I  will,"  agreed  Charlie. 

"  'Case  ef  ole  Josh  beats  me  I  gwine  ter  run  away.  I 
nebber  git  ober  dat." 

Dick  had  threatened  to  run  away  often  before  when 
he  wanted  to  force  Charlie  to  do  something  for  him. 
Once  he  had  gone  a  mile  out  of  town  with  his  clothes 
tied  in  a  bundle,  and  Charlie  trudging  after  him  begging 
him  not  to  leave. 

The  boy  did  his  best  to  save  Dick  the  humiliation  of  a 
whipping  at  the  hands  of  Uncle  Josh,  but  in  vain. 

When  Uncle  Josh  led  him  out  to  the  stable  lot  his 
face  was  not  pleasant  to  look  upon.  There  was  a 
dangerous  gleam  in  Dick's  eye  that  boded  no  good  to 
his  enemy. 

"You  imp  er  de  debbil!"  exclaimed  Uncle  Josh, 
shaking  his  switch  with  unction. 

"I  fool  you  good  enough,  you  ole  bal'headed  ape!" 
answered  Dick,  gritting  his  teeth  defiantly. 

"I  make  you  sing  enudder  chune  'fo'  I'se  done 
wid  you." 

"En'  if  you  does,  nigger,  you  know  what  I  gwine  do 
fur  you?"  cried  Dick,  rolling  his  eyes  up  at  his  enemy. 

"What  kin  you  do,  honey?"  asked  Uncle  Josh, 
humouring  his  victim  now  with  the  evident  relish  of  a 
cat  before  his  meal  on  a  mouse. 

"Ef  you  hits  me  hard,  I  gwine  ter  burn  yo'  house 
down  on  yo'  haid  some  night  en  run  erway  des  es  sho' 
es  I  kin  stick  er  match  to  it,"  said  Dick. 

"You  is,  is  you?"  thundered  Josh  with  wrath. 

"  Dat  I  is.     En'  I  burn  yo'  ole  chu'ch  de  same  night." 


1 86  The  Leopard's  Spots 

Uncle  Josh  was  silent  a  moment.  Dick's  word  had 
chilled  his  heart.  He  was  afraid  of  him,  but  he  was 
afraid  to  back  down  from  what  was  now  evidently  his 
duty.  So  without  further  words  he  whipped  him.  Yet 
to  save  his  life  he  could  not  hit  him  as  hard  as  he 
thought  he  deserved. 

That  night  Dick  disappeared  from  Hambright,  and 
for  weeks  every  evening  at  dusk  the  wistful  face  of 
Charlie  Gaston  could  be  seen  on  the  big  hill  to  the 
south  of  town  vainly  watching  for  somebody.  He  would 
always  take  something  to  eat  in  his  pockets,  and  when 
he  gave  up  his  vigil  he  would  place  the  food  under  a 
big  shelving  rock  where  they  had  often  played  together. 
But  the  birds  and  ground  squirrels  ate  it.  He  would 
slip  back  the  next  day,  hoping  to  see  Dick  jump  out  of 
the  cave  and  surprise  him. 

And  then  at  last  he  gave  it  up,  sat  down  under  the 
rock  and  cried.  He  knew  Dick  would  grow  to  be  a  man 
somewhere  out  in  the  big  world  and  never  come  back. 


LOVE'S    DREAM 


OBoofc  Ctoo— Jlotoe's  Dream 

CHAPTER  I 
[BLUE  EYES  AND  BLACK  HAIR 

SHE'S  coming    next    month,  Charlie,"    said    Mrs. 
Durham,  looking  up  from  a  letter. 
"Who  is    it    now,  Auntie — another    divinity 
with  which  you  are  going  to  overwhelm  me?"  asked 
Gaston,  smiling,  as  he  laid  his  book  down  and  leaned 
back  in  his  chair. 

"Some  one  I've  been  telling  you  about  for  the 
last  month." 

"Which  one?" 

"  Oh,  you  wretch !  You  don't  think  about  anything 
except  your  books.  I've  been  dinning  that  girl's  praises 
into  your  ears  for  fully  five  weeks,  and  you  look  at  me 
in  that  innocent  way  and  ask  which  one?" 

"Honestly,  Aunt  Margaret,  you're  always  telling  me 
about  some  beautiful  girl.  I  get  them  mixed.  And  then 
when  I  see  them  they  don't  come  up  to  the  advance 
notices  you've  sent  out.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  you  are 
such  a  beautiful  woman,  and  I've  got  so  used  to  your 
standard,  the  girls  can't  measure  up  to  it." 

"You  flatterer.  A  woman  of  forty-two  a  standard 
of  beauty !  Well,  it's  sweet  to  hear  you  say  it,  you 
handsome  young  rascal." 

"It's  the  honest  truth.  You  are  one  of  the  women 
who  never  show  the  addition  of  a  year.  You  have 
spoiled  my  eyesight  for  ordinary  girls." 

189 


190  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"  Hush,  sir;  you  don't  dare  to  talk  to  any  girl  like  you 
talk  to  me.  They  all  say  you're  afraid  of  them." 

"Well,  I  am,  in  a  sense.  I've  been  disappointed  so 
many  times." 

"Oh,  you'll  find  her  yet !     And  when  you  do " 

"What  do  you  think  will  happen?" 

"I'm  certain  you  will  be  the  biggest  fool  in  the  state." 

"That  will  make  it  nice  for  the  girl,  won't  it?" 

"Yes;  and  I  shall  enjoy  your  antics.  You  who  have 
dissected  love  with  your  brutal  German  philosophy,  and 
found  every  girl's  faults  with  such  ease — it  will  be  fun 
to  watch  you  flounder  in  the  meshes  at  last." 

"Auntie,  seriously,  it  will  be  the  happiest  day  of  my 
life.  For  four  years  my  dreams  have  been  growing  more 
and  more  impossible.  Who  is  this  one  ? " 

"She  is  the  most  beautiful  girl  I  know,  and  the 
brightest  and  the  best,  and  if  she  gets  hold  of  you  she 
will  clip  your  wings  and  bring  you  down  to  earth.  I'll 
watch  you  with  interest,"  said  Mrs.  Durham,  looking 
over  the  letter  again  and  laughing. 

"What  are  you  laughing  at?" 

"Just  a  little  joke  she  gets  off  in  this  letter. 

"But  who  is  she?     You  haven't  told  me." 

"I  did  tell  you — she's  General  Worth's  daughter, 
Miss  Sallie.  She  writes  she  is  coming  up  to  spend  a 
month  at  the  Springs,  with  her  friend  Helen  Lowell,  of 
Boston,  and  wants  me  to  corral  all  the  young  men  in  the 
community  and  have  them  fed  and  in  fine  condition 
for  work  when  they  arrive." 

"She  evidently  intends  to  have  a  good  time." 

"Yes;  and  she  will." 

"Fortunately  my  law  practice  is  not  rushing  me  at 
this  season.  My  total  receipts  for  June  last  year  were 
two  dollars  and  twenty-five  cents.  It  will  hardly  go 
over  two  fifty  this  year." 


Blue  Eyes  and  Black  Hair  191 

"I've  told  her  you're  a  rising  young  lawyer." 

"I  have  plenty  of  room  to  rise,  Auntie.  If  you  will 
just  keep  on  letting  me  board  with  you  I  hope  to  work 
my  practice  up  to  ten  dollars  a  month  in  the  course 
of  time." 

"Don't  you  want  to  hear  something  about  Miss 
Sallie?" 

"Of  course;  I  was  just  going  to  ask  you  if  she's  as 
homely  as  that  last  one  you  tried  to  get  off  on  me." 

"  I've  told  you  she's  a  beauty.  She  made  a  sensation 
at  her  finishing  school  in  Baltimore.  It's  funny  that  she 
was  there  the  last  year  you  were  at  the  Johns  Hopkins 
University.  She's  the  belle  of  Independence,  rich, 
petted,  and  the  only  child  of  old  General  Worth,  who 
thinks  the  sun  rises  and  sets  in  her  pretty  blue  eyes.'" 

"So  she  has  blue  eyes?" 

"Yes,  blue  eyes  and  black  hair." 

.  "What  a  funny  combination  !     I  never  saw  a  girl  with 
blue  eyes  and  black  hair." 

"It's  often  seen  in  the  far  South.  I  expect  you  to  be 
drowned  in  those  blue  eyes.  They  are  big,  round  and 
childlike,  and  look  out  of  their  black  lashes  as  though 
surprised  at  their  dark  setting.  This  contrast  accents 
their  dreamy  beauty,  and  her  eyes  seem  to  swim  in  a 
dim  blue  mist  like  the  point  where  the  sea  and  sky  meet 
on  the  horizon  far  out  on  the  ocean.  She  is  bright, 
witty,  romantic  and  full  of  coquetry.  She  is  determined 
to  live  her  girl's  life  to  its  full  limit.  She  is  fond  of 
society  and  dances  divinely." 

"That's  bad.  I  never  even  cut  the  pigeon's-wing  in 
my  life — and  I'm  too  old  to  learn." 

"She  has  a  full,  queenly  figure,  small  hands  and  feet, 
delicate  wrists,  a  dimple  in  one  cheek  only,  and  a 
mass  of  brown-black  hair  that  curls  when  it's  going 
to  rain." 


192  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"That's  fine;  we  wouldn't  need  a  barometer  on  life's 
voyage,  would  we?" 

"  No;  but  you  will  be  looking  for  a  pilot  and  a  harbour 
before  you've  known  her  a  month.  Her  upper  lip  is  a 
little  fuller  and  projects  slightly  over  the  lower,  and  they 
are  both  beautifully  fluted  and  curved  like  the  petals  of 
a  flower,  which  makes  the  most  tantalising  mouth — a 
standing  challenge  for  a  kiss." 

"Auntie,  you're  joking.  You  never  saw  such  a 
girl.  You're  breaking  into  my  heart,  stealing  glances 
at  my  ideal." 

"All  right,  sir;  wait  and  see  for  yourself.  She  has 
pretty  shell-like  ears;. her  laughter  is  full,  contagious, 
and  like  music.  She  plays  divinely  on  the  piano,  can't 
sing  a  note,  but  dresses  to  kill.  You  might  as  well 
wind  up  your  affairs  and  get  ready  for  the  first  serious 
work  of  your  life.  You  will  have  your  hands  full  after 
you  see  her." 

"But  did  I  understand  you  to  say  she's  rich?" 

"Yes;  they  say  her  father  is  worth  half  a  million." 

"Do  you  think  she  could  be  interested  in  the  poor  in 
this  county?" 

"Yes;  she  doesn't  seem  to  know  she's  an  heiress.  Her 
father,  the  General,  is  a  deacon  in  the  Baptist  church 
at  Independence,  and  hates  dudes  and  fops  with  all 
his  old-fashioned  soul.  His  idea  of  a  man  is  one  of 
character  and  the  capacity  of  achievement,  not  merely 
a  possessor  of  money.  Still,  I  imagine  he  is  going  to 
give  any  man  trouble  who  tries  to  take  his  daughter 
away  from  him." 

"I'm  afraid  that  money  lets  me  out  of  the  race." 

"Nothing  of  the  sort;  when  you  see  her  you  will  never 
allow  a  little  thing  like  that  to  worry  you." 

"It's  not  her  dollars  that  will  worry  me.  It's  the 
fact  that  she's  got  them  and  I  haven't.  But,  anyhow, 


Blue  Eyes  and  Black  Hair  193 

Auntie,  from  your  description  you  can  book  me  for  one 
night  at  least." 

"I'm  going  to  book  you  for  her  lackey,  her  slave, 
devoted  to  her  every  whim  while  she's  here.  One 
night — the  idea ! " 

"Auntie,  you're  too  generous  to  others.  I've  no 
notion  all  this  rigmarole  about  your  Miss  Sallie  Worth  is 
true.  But  I'll  do  anything  to  please  you." 

"Very  well;  I'll  see  whom  you  will  be  trying  to 
please  later." 

"I  must  go,"  said  Gaston,  hastily  rising.  "I  have  an 
engagement  to  discuss  the  coming  political  campaign 
with  the  Honourable  Allan  McLeod,  the  present  Repub 
lican  boss  of  the  state." 

"I  didn't  know  you  hobnobbed  with  the  enemy." 

"I  don't.  But  as  far  as  I  can  understand  him,  he 
purposes  to  take  me  up  on  an  exceeding  high  mountain 
and  offer  me  the  world  and  the  fulness  thereof.  We  all 
like  to  be  tempted,  whether  we  fall  or  not.  The  Doctor 
hates  McLeod.  I  think  he  holds  some  grudge  against 
him.  What  do  you  think  of  him,  Auntie  ?  He  swears 
by  you.  I  used  to  dislike  him  as  a  boy,  but  he  seems  a 
pretty  decent  sort  of  fellow  now,  and  I  can't  help  liking 
just  a  little  anybody  who  loves  you.  I  confess  he  has 
a  fascination  for  me." 

"Why  do  you  ask  my  opinion  of  him?"  slowly  asked 
Mrs.  Durham. 

"  Because  I'm  not  quite  sure  of  his  honesty.  He  talks 
fairly,  but  there's  something  about  him  that  casts  a 
doubt  over  his  fairest  words.  He  says  he  has  the  most 
important  proposition  of  my  life  to  place  before  me 
to-day,  and  I'm  at  a  loss  how  to  meet  him — whether  as 
a  well-meaning  friend  or  a  scheming  scoundrel.  He's  a 
puzzle  to  me." 

"Well,  Charlie,  I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  he  is  a 


194  The  Leopard's  Spots 

puzzle  to  me.  I've  always  been  strangely  attracted  to 
him,  even  when  he  was  a  big  red-headed  brute  of  a  boy. 
The  Doctor  always  disliked  him  and,  I  thought,  mis 
judged  him.  He  has  always  paid  me  the  supremest 
deference,  and  of  late  years  the  most  subtle  flattery. 
No  woman  who  feels  her  life  a  failure,  as  I  do  mine, 
,can  be  indifferent  to  such  a  compliment  from  a  man  of 
trained  mind  and  masterful  character.  This  is  a  sore 
subject  between  the  Doctor  and  myself.  And  when  I 
see  him  shaking  hands  a  little  too  lingeringly  with 
admiring  sisters  after  his  services  I  repay  him  with  a 
chat  with  my  devoted  McLeod.  Don't  ask  me.  I  like 
him  and  I  don't  like  him.  I  admire  him  and  at  the 
same  time  I  suspect  and  half  fear  him." 

"Strange  we  feel  so  much  alike  about  him.  But 
your  heart  has  always  been  very  close  to  mine,  since 
you  slipped  your  arm  around  me  that  night  my  mother 
died.  I  know  about  what  he  will  say,  and  I  know 
about  what  I'll  do."  He  stooped  and  kissed  his  foster- 
mother  tenderly. 

"  Charlie,  I'm  in  earnest  about  my  pretty  girl  that's 
coming.  Don't  forget  it." 

"Bah!    You've  fooled  me  before." 


<5HAPTER  II 
THE  VOICE  OF  THE  TEMPTER 

McLEOD  was  waiting  with  some  impatience  in 
his  room  at  the  hotel. 
"Walk   in,    Gaston;   you're   a    little    late. 
However,  better  late  than  never."     McLeod  plunged 
directly  into  the  purpose  of  his  visit. 

"Gaston,  you're  a  man  of  brains  and  oratorical 
genius.  I  heard  your  speech  in  the  last  Democratic 
convention  in  Raleigh,  and — I  don't  say  it  to  flatter 
you — that  was  the  greatest  speech  made  in  any 
assembly  in  this  state  since  the  war." 

"Thanks,"  said  Gaston,  with  a  wave  of  his  arm. 

"  I  mean  it.  You  know  too  much  to  be  in  sympathy 
with  the  old  mossbacks  who  are  now  running  this  state. 
For  fourteen  years  the  South  has  marched  to  the  polls 
and  struck  blindly  at  the  Republican  party,  and  three 
times  it  struck  to  kill.  The  Southern  people  have 
nothing  in  common  with  these  Northern  Democrats 
who  make  your  platforms  and  nominate  your  candidate. 
You  don't  ask  anything  about  the  platform  or  the  man. 
You  would  vote  for  the  devil  if  the  Democrats  nominated 
him,  and  ask  no  questions;  and  what  infuriates  me  is 
you  vote  to  enforce  platforms  that  mean  economic  ruin 
to  the  South." 

"Man  shall  not  live  by  bread  alone,  McLeod." 

"Sure;  but  he  can't  live  on  dead  men's  bones.  You 
vote  in  solid  mass  on  the  Negro  question,  which  you 
settle  by  the  power  of  Anglo-Saxon  insolence  when 
you  destroy  the  Reconstruction  governments  at  a  blow. 

195 


196  The  Leopard's  Spots 

Why  should  you  keep  on  voting  against  every  interest 
of  the  South,  merely  because  you  hate  the  name 
Republican?" 

"Why?  Simply  because  so  long  as  the  Negro  is  here 
with  a  ballot  in  his  hands  he  is  a  menace  to  civilisation. 
The  Republican  party  placed  him  here.  The  name 
Republican  will  stink  in  the  South  for  a  century,  not 
because  they  beat  us  in  war,  but  because  two  years  after 
the  war,  in  profound  peace,  they  inaugurated  a  second 
war  on  the  unarmed  people  of  the  South,  butchering  the 
starving,  the  wounded,  the  women  and  children.  God 
in  heaven,  will  I  ever  forget  that  day  they  murdered  my 
mother!  Their  attempt  to  establish  with  the  bayonet 
an  African  barbarism  on  the  ruins  of  Southern  society 
was  a  conspiracy  against  human  progress.  It  was  the 
blackest  crime  of  the  nineteenth  century." 

"You  are  talking  in  a  dead  language.  We  are  living 
in  a  new  world." 

"But  principles  are  eternal." 

"Principles?  I'm  not  talking  about  principles.  I'm 
talking  about  practical  politics.  The  people  down  here 
haven't  voted  on  a  principle  in  years.  They're  been 
voting  on  old  Simon  Legree.  He  left  the  state  nearly  a 
quarter  of  a  century  ago." 

"Yes,  McLeod,  but  his  soul  has  gone  marching  on. 
The  Republican  party  fought  the  South  because  such 
men  as  Legree  lived  in  it,  and  abused  the  Negroes,  and 
the  moment  they  won,  turn  and  make  Legree  and  his 
breed  their  pets.  Simon  Legree  is  more  than  a  mere  man 
who  stole  five  millions  of  dollars,  alienated  the  races, 
and  covered  the  South  with  the  desolation  of  anarchy. 
He  is  an  idea.  He  represents  everything  that  the  soul 
of  the  South  loathes  and  that  the  Republican  party 
lias  tried  to  ram  down  our  throats — Negro  supremacy 
in  politics  and  Negro  equality  in  society," 


The  Voice  of  the  Tempter  197 

"You  are  talking  about  the  dead  past,  Gaston.  I'm 
surprised  at  a  man  of  your  brain  living  under  such  a 
delusion.  How  can  there  be  Negro  supremacy  when 
they  are  in  a  minority?" 

"Supremacy  under  a  party  system  is  always  held  by 
a  minority.  The  dominant  faction  of  a  party  rules  the 
party,  and  the  successful  party  rules  the  state.  If  the 
Negro  only  numbered  one-fifth  the  population  and  they 
all  belonged  to  one  party,  they  could  dictate  the  policy 
of  that  party." 

"You  know  that  a  few  white  brains  really  rule  that 
black  mob." 

"Yes;  but  the  black  mob  defines  the  limits  within 
which  you  live  and  have  your  being." 

"Gaston,  the  time  has  come  to  shake  off  this  night* 
mare  and  face  the  issues  of  our  day  and  generation. 
We  are  going  to  win  in  this  campaign,  but  I  want  you, 
I  like  you.  You  are  the  kind  of  man  we  need  now 
to  take  the  field  and  lead  in  this  campaign." 

"How  are  you  going  to  win?" 

"We  are  going  to  form  a  contract  with  the  Farmers' 
Alliance  and  break  the  backbone  of  the  Bourbon  Democ 
racy  of  the  South.  The  farmers  have  now  a  compact 
body  of  50,000  voters,  thoroughly  organised,  and  com 
bined  with  the  Negro  vote  we  can  hold  this  state  until 
Gabriel  blows  his  trumpet." 

"That's  a  pretty  scheme.  Our  farmers  are  crazy 
now  with  every  variety  of  fool  ideas,"  said  Gaston, 
thoughtfully. 

"Exactly,  my  boy;  and  we've  got  them  by  the  nose.w 

"If  you  can  carry  through  that  programme  you've 
got  us  in  a  hole." 

"In  a  hole !  I  should  say  we've  got  you  in  the  bot 
tomless  pit  with  the  lid  bolted  down.  You'll  not  even 
rise  at  the  day  of  judgment.  It  won't  be  necessary  1" 


198  The  Leopard's  Spots 

laughed  McLeod,  and  as  he  laughed  changed  his  tone 
in  the  midst  of  his  laughter. 

"And  what  is  the  great  proposition  you  have  to  make 
to  me  ?  "  asked  Gaston. 

"Join  with  us  in  this  new  coalition  and  stump  the 
state  for  us.  Your  fortune  will  be  made,  win  or  lose. 
I'll  see  that  the  National  Republican  Committee  pays 
you  a  thousand  dollars  a  week  for  your  speeches,  at 
least  five  a  week — two  hundred  dollars  apiece.  If  we 
j  lose,  you  will  make  ten  thousand  dollars  in  the  canvass 
and  stand  in  line  for  a  good  office  under  the  National 
administration.  If  we  win,  I'll  put  you  in  the  Gov 
ernor's  Palace  for  four  years.  There's  a  tide  in  the 
affairs  of  men,  you  know.  It's  at  the  flood  at  this 
moment  for  you." 

Gaston  was  silent  a  moment  and  looked  thoughtfully 
out  of  the  window.  The  offer  was  a  tremendous  temp 
tation.  A  group  of  old  fogies  had  dominated  the 
Democratic  party  for  ten  years,  and  had  kept  the 
younger  men  down  with  their  war-cries  and  old  soldier 
candidates,  until  he  had  been  more  than  once  disgusted. 
He  felt  as  sure  of  McLeod's  success  as  if  he  already 
saw  it.  It  was  precisely  the  movement  he  had  warned 
the  old  pudding-head  set  against  in  the  preceding  cam 
paign  in  which  they  had  deliberately  alienated  the 
•"Farmers'  Alliance.  They  had  poohpoohed  his  warning 
and  blundered  on  to  their  ruin. 

It  was  the  dream  of  his  life  to  have  money  enough 
to  buy  back  his  mother's  old  home,  beautify  it,  and  live 
there  in  comfort  with  a  great  library  of  books  he  would 
gather.  The  possibility  of  a  career  at  the  state  Capitol 
and  then  at.  Washington  for  so  young  a  man  was  one  of 
dazzling  splendour  to  his  youthful  mind.  For  the 
moment  it  seemed  almost  impossible  to  say  no. 

McLeod  saw  his  hesitation  and  already  smiled  with 


The  Voice  of  the  Tempter  199 

the  certainty  of  triumph.     A  cloud  overspread  his  face 
when  Gaston  at  length  said; 

"I'll   give   you   my   answer   to-morrow." 

"All  right!  You're  a  gentleman;  I  can  trust  you,, 
Our  conversation  is,  of  course,  only  between  you 
and  me." 

"Certainly;  I  understand  that." 

All  that  day  and  night  he  was  alone  fighting  out  the 
battle  in  his  soul.  It  was  an  easy  .solution  of  life  that 
opened  before  him.  The  attainment  of  his  proudest 
ambitions  lay  within  his  grasp  almost  without  a  struggle. 
Such  a  campaign,  with  his  name  on  the  lips  of  surging 
thousands  around  those  speakers'  stands,  was  an  idea 
that  fascinated  him  with  a  serpent  charm. 

All  that  he  had  to  do  was  to  give  up  his  prejudices  on 
the  Negro  question.  His  own  party  stood  for  no  princi 
ple  except  the  supremacy  of  the  Anglo-Saxon.  On  the 
issue  of  the  party  platforms  he  was  in  accord  with  the 
modern  Republican  utterances  at  almost  every  issue, 
and  so  were  his  associates  in  the  Southern  Democracy. 
The  Negro  was  the  point.  What  was  the  use  now  of 
persisting  in  the  stupid  reiteration  of  the  old  sljgan  of 
white  supremacy?  The  Negro  had  the  ballot.  He  was 
still  the  ward  of  the  nation,  and  likely  to  be  for  all  time, 
so  far  as  he  could  see.  The  Negro  was  the  one  pet  super- 1 
stition  of  the  millions  who  lived  where  no  Negro  dwelt. 

His  person  and  his  ballot  were  held  more  peculiarly 
sacred  and  inviolate  in  the  South  than  that  of  any  white 
man  elsewhere. 

The  possibility  of  a  reunion  in  friendly  understanding 
and  sympathy  between  the  masses  of  the  North  and  the 
masses  of  the  South  seemed  remote  and  impossible  in 
his  day  and  generation. 

He  asked  himself  the  question — Could  such  a  revolu 
tion  toward  universal  suffrage  ever  go  backward,  no 


200  The  Leopard's  Spots 

matter  how  base  the  motive  which  gave  it  birth  ?  Why 
not  give  up  impracticable  dreams,  accept  things  as  they 
are,  and  succeed? 

He  did  not  confer  with  the  Reverend  John  Durham 
on  this  question,  because  he  knew  what  his  answer 
would  be  without  asking.  A  thousand  times  he  had 
said  to  him,  with  the  emphasis  he  could  give  to  words : 

"My  boy,  the  future  American  must  be  an  Anglo- 
Saxon  or  a  Mulatto.  We  are  now  deciding  which  it 
shall  be.  The  future  of  the  world  depends  on  the  future 
of  this  Republic.  This  Republic  can  have  no  future  if 
racial  lines  are  broken  and  its  proud  citizenship  sinks  to 
the  level  of  a  mongrel  breed  of  Mulattoes.  The  South 
must  fight  this  battle  to  a  finish.  Two  thousand  years 
look  down  upon  the  struggle,  and  two  thousand  years  of 
the  fiiture  bend  low  to  catch  the  message  of  life  or  death.'1 

He  could  see  now  his  drawn  face  with  its  deep  lines 
and  his  eyes  flashing  with  passion  as  he  said  this.  These 
words  haunted  Gaston  now  with  strange  power  as  he 
walked  along  the  silent  streets. 

He  walked  down  past  his  old  home,  stopped  and 
leaned  on  the  gate,  and  looked  at  it  long  and  lovingly. 
What  a  flood  of  tender  and  sorrowful  memories  swept 
his  soul !  He  lived  over  again  the  days  of  despair 
when  his  mother  was  an  invalid.  He  recalled  their 
awful  poverty,  and  then  the  last  terrible  day  with  that 
mob  of  Negroes  trampling  over  the  lawn  and  overrun 
ning  the  house.  He  saw  the  white  face  of  his  mother 
whose  memory  he  loved  as  he  loved  life.  And  now  he 
recalled  a  sentence  from  her  dying  lips.  He  had  all 
but  lost  its  meaning. 

"You  will  grow  to  be  a  brave,  strong  man.  You  will 
fight  this  battle  out  and  win  back  our  home,  and  bring 
your  own  bride  here  in  the  far-away  days  of  sunshine 
and  success  I  see  for  you." 


The  Voice  of  the  Tempter  201 

You  will  fight  this  battle  out — he  had  almost  lost  that 
sentence  in  his  hunger  for  that  which  followed.  It  came 
to  his  soul  now,  ringing  like  a  trumpet-call  to  honour 
and  duty. 

He  turned  on  his  heel  and  walked  rapidly  home.  He 
looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  two  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

"We  will  fight  it  out  on  the  old  lines,"  he  said  to 
McLeod  next  day. 

"You  will  find  me  a  pretty  good  fighter." 

"Unto  death  let  it  be,"  answered  Gaston,  firmly  set 
ting  his  lips. 

"I  admire  your  pluck,  but  I'm  sorry  for  your  judg 
ment.  You  know  you're  beaten  before  you  begin." 

"Defeat  that's  seen  has  lost  its  bitterness  before 
it  conies." 

"Then  get  ready  the  flowers  for  the  funeral.  I  hoped 
you  would  have  better  sense.  You  are  one  of  the  men 
now  I'll  have  to  crush  first,  thoroughly  and  for  all  time. 
I'm  not  afraid  of  the  old  fools.  I'll  be  fair  enough  to 
tell  you  this,"  said  McLeod. 

"Not  since  Legree's  day  has  the  Republican  party 
had  so  dangerous  a  man  at  its  head,"  said  Gastcn 
thoughtfully  to  himself  as  McLeod  strode  away  across 
the  square.  "He  has  ten  times  the  brains  of  his  older 
master,  and  none  of  his  superstitions.  He  will  give  me 
a  hard  fight." 


CHAPTER    III 
FLORA 

AMB RIGHT  had  changed  but  little  in  the 
eighteen  years  of  peace  that  had  followed  the 
terrors  of  Legree's  regime.  The  population 
had  doubled,  though  but  few  houses  had  been  built. 
The  town  had  not  grown  from  the  development  of 
industry,  but  for  a  very  simple  reason — the  country 
people  had  moved  into  the  town,  seeking  refuge  from 
a  new  terror  that  was  growing  of  late  more  and  more  a 
menace  to  a  country  home — the  roving  criminal  Negro. 

The  birth  of  a  girl  baby  was  sure  to  make  a  father 
restless,  and  when  the  baby  looked  up  into  his  face  one 
day  with  the  soft  light  of  a  maiden  he  gave  up  his  farm 
and  moved  to  town. 

The  most  important  development  of  these  eighteen 
years  was  the  complete  alienation  of  the  white  ard 
black  races  as  compared  with  the  old  familiar  trust  Cx 
domestic  life. 

When  Legree  finished  his  work  as  the  master  artificer 
of  the  Reconstruction  Policy,  he  had  dug  a  gulf  between 
the  races  as  deep  as  hell.  It  had  never  been  bridged. 
The  deed  was  done,  and  it  had  crystallised  into  the  solid 
rock  that  lies  at  the  basis  of  society.  It  was  done  at  a 
formative  period,  and  it  could  no  more  be  undone  now 
than  you  could  roll  the  universe  back  in  its  course. 

The  younger  generation  of  white  men  only  knew  the 
Negro  as  an  enemy  of  his  people  in  politics  and  society. 
He  never  came  in  contact  with  him  except  in  menial 

202 


Flora  203 

service,  in  which  the  service  rendered  was  becoming 
more  and  more  trifling,  and  his  habits  more  insolent. 
He  had  his  separate  schools,  churches,  preachers  and 
teachers,  and  his  political  leaders  were  the  beneficiaries 
of  Legree's  legacies. 

With  the  Anglo-Saxon  race  guarding  the  door  of  mar 
riage  with  fire  and  sword,  the  effort  was  being  made  to 
»  build  a  nation  inside  a  nation  of  two  antagonistic  races. 
No  such  thing  had  ever  been  done  in  the  history  of  the 
human  race,  even  under  the  development  of  the  monar 
chical  and  aristocratic  forms  of  society.  How  could  it 
be  done  under  the  formulas  of  Democracy  with  Equality 
as  the  fundamental  basis  of  law  ?  And  yet  this  was  the 
programme  of  the  age. 

Gaston  was  feeling  blue  from  the  reaction  which  fol 
lowed  his  temptation  by  McLeod.  His  duty  was  clear 
the  night  before  as  he  walked  firmly  homeward,  recalling 
the  tragedy  of  the  past.  Now  in  the  cold  light  of  day 
the  past  seemed  far  away  and  unreal.  The  present  was 
near,  pressing,  vital.  He  laid  down  a  book  he  was  try 
ing  to  read,  locked  his  office,  and  strolled  downtown  to 
see  Tom  Camp. 

This  old  soldier  had  come  to  be  a  sort  of  oracle  to  him. 
His  affection  for  the  son  of  his  Colonel  was  deep  and 
abiding,  and  his  extravagant  flattery  of  his  talents  and 
future  were  so  evidently  sincere  they  always  acted  as  a  { 
tonic.     And  he  needed  a  tonic  to-day. 

Tom  was  seated  in  a  chair  in  his  yard  under  a  big 
cedar,  working  on  a  basket,  and  a  little  golden-haired 
girl  was  playing  at  his  feet.  It  was  his  old  home  he  had 
lost  in  Legree's  day,  but  had  got  back  through  the  help 
of  General  Worth,  who  came  up  one  day  and  paid  back 
Tom's  gift  of  lightwood  in  gleaming  yellow  metal.  His 
long  hair  and  full  beard  were  white  now,  and  his  eyes 
had  a  soft  deep  look  that  told  of  sorrows  borne  in 


204  The  Leopard's  Spots 

patience  and  faith  beyond  the  ken  of  the  younger  man, 
It  was  this  look  on  Tom's  face  that  held  Gaston  like  a 
magnet  when  he  was  in  trouble. 

"Tom,  I'm  blue  and  heartsick.  I've  come  down  to 
have  you  cheer  me  up  a  little." 

"You've  got  the  blues?  Well,  that  is  a  joke  !  "  cried 
Tom.  "You,  young  and  handsome,  the  best  educated 
man  in  the  county,  the  finest  orator  in  the  state,  life 
all  before  you,  and  God  fillin'  the  world  to-day  with 
sunshine  and  spring  flowers,  and  all  for  you.  You 
blue!  That  is  a  joke."  And  Tom's  voice  rang  in 
hearty  laughter. 

"Come  here,  Flora,  and  kiss  me.  You  won't  laugh  at 
me,  will  you?" 

The  child  climbed  up  into  his  lap,  slipped  her  little 
arms  around  his  neck,  and  hugged  and  kissed  him. 

"Now,  once  more,  dearie,  long  and  close  and  hard — 
oh!  That's  worth  a  pound  of  candy."  Again  she 
squeezed  his  neck  and  kissed  him,  looking  into  his  face 
with  a  smile. 

"I  love  you,  Charlie,"  she  artlessly  said,  with  quaint 
seriousness. 

" Do  you,  dear?  Well,  that  makes  me  glad.  If  I  can 
win  the  love  of  as  pretty  a  little  girl  as  you  I'm  not  a 
failure,  am  I?"  And  he  smoothed  her  curls. 

"Ain't  she  sweet?  "  cried  Tom  with  pride,  as  he  laid 
aside  his  basket  and  looked  at  her  with  moistened 
eyes. 

"Tom,  she's  the  sweetest  child  I  ever  saw." 

"Yes,  she's  God's  last  and  best  gift  to  me,  to  show 
me  He  still  loved  me.  Talk  about  trouble.  Man,  you're 
a  baby !  You  ain't  cut  your  teeth  yet.  Wait  till  you've 
seen  some  things  I've  seen.  Wait  till  you've  seen 
the  light  of  the  world  go  out,  and,  staggerin'  in  the 
dark,  met  the  devil  face  to  face  and  looked  him  in  the 


Flora  205 

eye  and  smelled  the  pit.  And  then  feel  him  knock 
you  down  in  it,  and  the  red  waves  roll  over  you  and 
smother  you.  I've  been  there  !  " 

Tom  paused  and  looked  at  Gaston.  "You  weren't 
here  when  I  come  to  the  end  of  the  world,  the  time  when 
that  baby  was  born,  and  Annie  died  with  the  little  red 
bundle  sleepin'  on  her  breast.  The  oldest  girl  was  mur 
dered  by  Legree's  nigger  soldiers.  Then  Annie  give  me 
that  little  gal.  Lord,  I  was  the  happiest  old  fool  that 
ever  lived  that  day !  And  then  when  I  looked  into 
Annie's  dead  face  I  went  down,  down,  down !  But  I 
looked  up  from  the  bottom  of  the  pit  and  saw  the  light 
of  them  blue  eyes  and  I  heard  her  callin'  me  to  take 
her.  How  I  watched  her  and  nursed  her,  a  mother  and 
a  father  to  her,  day  and  night,  through  the  long  years, 
and  how  them  little  fingers  of  hers  got  hold  of  my  heart ! 
Now,  I  bless  the  Lord  for  all  His  goodness  and  mercy  to 
me.  She  will  make  it  all  right.  She's  going  to  be  a  lady 
and  such  a  beauty !  She's  going  to  school  now,  and  me 
and  the  General's  goin'  to  take  her  ter  college  by  and 
by,  and  she's  goin'  to  marry  some  big  handsome  fellow 
like  you,  and  her  crippled,  gray-haired  daddy  '11  live  in 
her  house  in  his  old  age.  The  Lord  is  my  shepherd;  I 
shall  not  want." 

"Tom,    you  make   me   ashamed." 

"You  ought  to  be,  man — a  youngster  like  you  to  talk 
about  gettin'  the  blues.  What's  all  your  education  for?  " 

"Sometimes  I  think  that  only  men  like  you  have  ever 
been  educated." 

"  G'long  with  your  foolishness,  boy.  I  ain't  never  had 
a  show  in  this  world.  The  nigger's  been  on  my  back 
since  I  first  toddled  into  the  world,  and  I  reckon  he'll  ride 
me  into  the  grave.  They  are  my  only  rivals  now,  making 
them  baskets,  and  they  always  undersell  me." 

Gaston  started  as  Tom  uttered  the  last  sentence. 


206  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"With  you,  boy,  it's  all  plain  sailin'.  You're  the  best- 
looking  chap  in  the  county.  I  was  a  dandy  when  I  was 
young.  It  does  me  good  to  look  at  you,  if  you  don't  care 
nothin'  about  fine  clothes.  Then  you're  as  sharp  as  a 
razor.  There  ain't  a  man  in  No'th  Caliny  that  can  stand 
up  agin  you  on  the  stump.  I've  heard  'em  all.  You'll 
be  the  Governor  of  this  state." 

That  was  always  the  climax  of  Tom's  prophetic 
flattery.  He  could  think  of  no  grander  end  of  a  human 
life  than  to  crown  it  in  the  Governor's  Palace  of  North 
Carolina.  He  belonged  to  the  old  days  when  it  was  a 
bigger  thing  to  be  the  Governor  of  a  great  state  than  to 
hold  any  office  short  of  the  Presidency — when  men 
resigned  seats  in  the  United  States  Senate  to  run  for 
Governor,  and  when  the  National  Government  was  so 
puny  a  thing  that  the  bankers  of  Europe  refused  to  loan 
money  on  United  States  bonds  unless  countersigned  by 
the  State  of  Virginia.  And  that  was  not  so  long  ago. 
The  bankers  sent  that  answer  to  Buchanan's  Secretary 
of  the  Treasury. 

"Tom,  you've  lifted  me  out  of  the  dumps.  I  owe 
you  a  doctor's  fee !  "  cried  Gaston,  with  enthusiasm, 
as  he  placed  Flora  back  on  the  grass  and  started 
to  his  office. 

"  All  I  charge  you  is  to  come  again.  The  old  man's 
proud  of  his  young  friend.  You  make  me  feel  like  I'm 
somebody  in  the  old  world  after  all.  And  some  day 
when  you're  great  and  rich  and  famous,  and  the 
world's  full  of  your  name,  I'll  tell  folks  I  know  you  like 
my  own  boy,  and  I'll  brag  about  how  many  times  you 
used  to  come  to  see  me." 

"  Hush,  Tom,  you  make  me  feel  silly,"  said  Gaston,  as 
he  warmly  pressed  the  old  fellow's  hand.  He  went  back 
toward  his  office  with  lighter  step  and  more  buoyant 
heart.  His  mind  was  as  clear  as  the  noonday  sun  that 


Flora  207 

was  now  flooding  the  green  fresh  world  with  its 
splendour.  He  would  stand  by  his  own  people.  He 
would  sink  or  swim  with  them.  If  poverty  and 
failure  were  the  result,  let  it  be  so.  If  success  came, 
all  the  better.  There  were  things  more  to  be  desired 
$han  gold. 


CHAPTER  IV 
THE    ONE    WOMAN 

G ASTON  called  at  the  post-office  to  get  his  mail. 
One  relief  the  Cleveland  administration  had 
brought  Hambright — a  decent  citizen  in  charge 
of  the  post-office.  Dave  Haley  had  given  place  to  a 
Democrat  and  was  now  scheming  and  working  with 
McLeod  for  the  "salvation"  of  the  state,  which,  of 
course,  meant  for  the  old  slave-trader  the  restoration 
of  his  office  under  a  Republican  administration.  If 
the  South  had  held  no  other  reason  for  hating  the 
Republican  party,  the  character  of  the  men  appointed 
to  Federal  office  was  enough  to  send  every  honest  man 
hurrying  into  the  opposite  party  without  asking  any 
questions  as  to  its  principles. 

Sam  Love,  the  new  postmaster,  was  a  jovial,  honest, 
lazy,  good-natured  Democrat  whose  ideal  of  a  luxurious 
life  was  attained  in  his  office.  He  handed  Gaston  his 
mail  with  a  giggle. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  Sam?" 

"  Nuthin'  'tall.  I  just  thought  I'd  tell  you  that  I  like 
her  handwriting,"  he  laughed. 

"How  dare  you  study  the  handwriting  on  my 
letters,  sir!" 

"What's  the  use  of  being  postmaster?  There  ain't 
no  big  money  in  it.  I  just  take  pride  in  the  office," 
said  Sam,  genially.  "That's  a  new  one,  ain't  it?  " 

Gaston  looked  at  the  letter  incredulously.  It  was  a 
new  one — a  big,  square  envelope  with  a  seal  on  the  back 

208 


The  One  Woman  209 

of  it,  addressed  to  him  in  the  most  delicate   feminine 
hand  and  postmarked  "Independence." 

"Great  Scott,  this  is  interesting,"  he  cried,  breaking, 
the  seal. 

When  the  postmaster  saw  he  was  going  to  open  it 
right  there  in  the  office,  he  stepped  around  in  front  and, 
looking  ever  his  shoulder,  said: 

"What  is  it,  Charlie?" 

"It's  an  invitation  from  the  Ladies'  Memorial  Asso 
ciation  to  deliver  the  Memorial  Day  oration  at  Independ 
ence  the  icth  of  May.  That's  great.  No  money  in  it, 
but  scores  of  pretty  girls,  big  speech,  congratulations,  the 
lion  of  the  hour.  Don't  you  wish  you  were  really  a  man 
of  brains,  Sam?  " 

"No,  no;  I'm  married.     It  would  be  a  waste  now." 

"Sam,  I'll  be  there.  Got  the  biggest  speech  of  my 
life  all  cocked  and  primed,  full  of  pathos  and  eloquence 
— been  working  on  it  at  odd  times  for  four  years. 
They'll  think  it  a  sudden  inspiration." 

"What's  the  name  of  it?" 

"The  Message  of  the  New  South  to  the  Glorious 
Old." 

"That  sounds  bully!     That  ought  to  fetch  'em." 

"It  will,  my  boy;  and  when  Dave  Haley  gets  this 
post-office  away  from  you  in  the  dark  days  coming,  I'll 
publish  that  speech  in  a  pamphlet,  and  you  can  peddle 
it  at  a  quarter  and  make  a  good  living  for  your  children." 

"Don't  talk  like  that,  Gaston;  that  isn't  funny  at  all. 
You  don't  think  the  Radicals  have  got  an}'-  chance?" 

"Chance!     Between  you  and  me,  they'll  win." 

Sam  went  back  to  the  desk  without  another  word,  a 
great  fear  suddenly  darkening  the  fulure.  McLeod  had 
gotten  off  the  same  joke  on  him  the  day  before.  It 
sounded  ominous,  coming  from  both  sides  like  that. 
He  took  up  his  party  paper,  The  Old-Timer's  Gazette, 


210  The  Leopard's  Spots 

and  read  over  again  the  sure  prophecies  of  victory  and 
felt  better. 

Gaston  accepted  the  invitation  with  feverish  haste. 
He  had  it  all  ready  to  put  in  the  office  for  the  return 
mail  to  Independence,  but  he  was  ashamed  to  appear 
in  such  a  hurry,  so  he  held  the  letter  over  until  the  next 
day.  He  proudly  showed  the  invitation  to  Mrs.  Durham. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that,  Auntie  ? " 

"Immense.  You  will  meet  Miss  Sallie  sure.  That 
letter  is  in  her  handwriting.  She's  the  Secretary  of  the 
Association  and  signed  the  Committee's  names." 

"You  don't  say  that's  the  great  and  only  one's 
handwriting?" 

"Couldn't  be  mistaken.  It  has  a  delicate  distinction 
about  it.  I'd  know  it  anywhere." 

"It  is  beautiful,"  acknowledged  Gaston,  looking 
thoughtfully  at  the  letter. 

"I  wish  you  had  a  new  suit,  Charlie." 

"I  wouldn't  mind  it  myself,  if  I  had  the  money. 
But  clothes  don't  interest  me  much,  just  so  I'm 
fairly  decent." 

"I'll  loan  you  the  money  if  you  will  promise  me  to 
devote  yourself  faithfully  to  Sallie." 

"Never.  I'll  not  sell  my  interest  in  all  those  acres  of 
pretty  girls  just  for  one  I  never  saw  and  a  suit  of  clothes. 
No,  thanks.  I'm  going  down  there  with  a  premonition 
I  may  find  Her  of  whom  I've  dreamed.  They  say  that 
town  is  full  of  beauties." 

"You're  so  conceited.  That's  all  the  more  reason  you 
should  look  your  best." 

"I  don't  care  so  much  about  looks.  I'm  going  to  do 
my  best,  whatever  I  look." 

"Oh,  you  know  you're  good  looking  and  you  don't 
^are,"  said  his  foster  mother  with  pride. 

On  the  loth  of  May  Independence  was  in  gala  robes. 


The  One  Woman  211 

The  long  rows  of  beautiful  houses,  with  dark  bluegrass 
lawns,  over  which  giant  oaks  spread  their  cool  arms, 
were  gay  with  bunting,  and  with  flowers,  flowers 
everywhere !  Every  urchin  on  the  street  and  every 
man,  woman  .and  child  wore  or  earned  flowers. 

The  reception  committee  met  Gaston  at  the  depot  on 
the  arrival  of  the  excursion  train  that  ran  from  Ham- 
bright.  He  was  placed  in  an  open  carriage  beside  a 
handsome,  chattering  society  woman,  and,  drawn  by 
two  prancing  horses,  was  escorted  to  the  hotel,  where 
he  was  introduced  to  the  distinguished  old  soldiers  of 
the  Confederacy. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  procession  was  formed.  What  a 
sight !  It  stretched  from  the  hotel  down  the  shaded 
pavements  a  mile  toward  the  cemetery,  two  long  rows 
of  beautiful  girls  holding  great  bouquets  of  flowers. 
This  long  double  line  of  beauty  and  sweetness  opened, 
and  escorted  gravely  by  the  oldest  General  of  the 
Confederacy  present,  he  walked  through  this  mile  of 
smiling  girls  and  flowers.  Behind  him  tramped  the 
veterans,  some  with  one  arm,  some  with  wooden  legs. 

When  they  passed  through,  the  double  line  closed, 
and  two  and  two  the  hundreds  of  girls  earned  their 
flowers  in  solemn  procession.  Here  was  the  throb 
bing  soul  of  the  South,  keeping  fresh  the  love  of  her 
heroic  dead. 

They  spread  out  over  the  great  cemetery  like  a  host  of 
ministering  angels.  There  was  a  bugle  call.  They  bent 
low  a  moment,  and  flowers  were  smiling  over  every  grave 
from  the  greatest  to  the  lowliest. 

And  then  to  a  stone  altar  marked  "To  the  Unknown 
Dead  "  they  came  and  heaped  up  roses.  Then  a  group 
of  sad-faced  women  dressed  in  black,  with  quaint  little 
bonnets  wreathing  their  brows  like  nuns,  went  silently 
over  to  the  National  Cemetery  across  the  way  and,  each 


212  The  Leopard's  Spots 

taking  a  basket,  walked  past  the  long  lines  of  the  dead 
their  boys  had  fought  and  dropped  a  single  rose  on  every 
soldier's  grave.  They  were  women  whose  boys  were 
buried  ixi  strange  lands  in  lonely,  unmarked  trenches. 
They  were  doing  now  what  they  hoped  some  woman's 
hand  would  do  for  their  lost  heroes. 

The  crowd  silently  gathered  around  the  speakers' 
stand  and  took  their  seats  in  the  benches  placed  beneath 
the  trees. 

Gaston  had  never  seen  this  ceremony  so  lavishly  and 
beautifully  performed  before.  He  was  overwhelmed 
with  emotion.  His  father's  straight,  soldierly  figure 
rose  before  him  in  imagination,  and  with  him  all 
the  silent  hosts  that  now  bivouacked  with  the  dead. 
His  soul  was  melted  with  the  infinite  pathos  and 
pity  of  it  all. 

He  had  intended  to  say  some  sharp,  epigrammatic 
things  that  would  cut  the  chronic  mossbacks  that  cling 
to  the  platforms  on  such  occasions,  but  somehow  when 
he  began  they  were  melted  out  of  his  speech.  He  spoke 
with  a  tenderness  and  reverence  that  stilled  the  crowd 
in  a  moment  like  low  music. 

His  tribute  to  the  dead  was  a  poem  of  rhythmic  and 
exalted  thoughts.  The  occasion  was  to  him  an  inspira 
tion,  and  the  people  hung  breathless  on  his  words.  His 
voice  was  never  strained,  but  was  penetrated  and  thrilled 
with  thought  packed  until  it  burst  into  the  flame  of 
speech.  He  felt  with  conscious  power  his  mastery  of 
his  audience.  He  was  surprised  at  his  own  mood  of 
extraordinary  tenderness  as  he  felt  his  being  softened 
by  that  oldest  religion  of  the  ages,  the  worship  of  the 
dead — as  old  as  sorrow  and  as  everlasting  as  death.  He 
was  for  the  moment  clay  in  the  hands  of  some  mightier 
spirit  above  him. 

He  had  spoken  perhaps  fifteen  minutes  when  suddenly, 


The  One  Woman  213 

straight  in  front  of  him,  he  looked  into  the  face  of  the 
One  Woman  of  all  his  dreams ! 

There  she  sat  as  still  as  death,  her  beautiful  face  tense 
with  breathless  interest,  her  fluted  red  lips  parted  as  if 
half  in  wonder,  half  in  joy,  over  some  strange  revelation, 
and  her  great  blue  eyes  swimming  in  a  mist  of  tears.  He 
smiled  a  look  of  recognition  into  her  soul  and  she 
answered  with  a  smile  that  seemed  to  say:  "I've  known 
you  always.  Why  haven't  you  seen  me  sooner?"  He 
recognised  her  instantly  from  Mrs.  Durham's  description, 
and  his  heart  gave  a  cry  of  joy.  From  that  moment 
every  word  that  he  uttered  was  spoken  to  her.  Some 
times  as  he  would  look  straight  through  her  eyes  into 
her  soul  she  would  flush  red  to  the  roots  of  her  brown- 
black  hair,  but  she  never  lowered  her  gaze.  He  closed 
his  speech  in  a  round  of  applause  that  was  renewed 
again  and  again. 

His  old  classmate,  Bob  St.  Clare,  rushed  forward  to 
greet  him. 

"Old  fellow,  you've  covered  yourself  with  glory.  By 
George,  that  was  great !  Come,  here's  a  hundred  girls 
want  to  meet  you." 

He  was  introduced  to  a  host  of  beauties  who 
showered  him  with  extravagant  compliments  which 
he  accepted  without  affectation.  He  knew  he  had 
outdone  himself  that  day,  and  he  knew  why.  The 
One  Woman  he  had  been  searching  the  world  for 
was  there,  and  inspired  him  beyond  all  he  had  ever 
dared  before. 

He  was  disappointed  in  not  seeing  her  among  the 
crowd  who  were  shaking  his  hand.  He  looked  anxiously 
over  the  heads  of  those  nearby  to  see  if  she  had  gone. 
He  saw  her  standing  talking  to  two  stylishly  dressed 
young  men. 

When  the  crowd  had  melted  away  from  the  rostrum, 


214  The  Leopard's  Spots 

she  walked  straight  toward  him,  extending  her  hand 
with  a  gracious  smile. 

He  knew  he  must  look  like  a  fool,  but  to  save  him 
he  could  not  help  it;  he  was  simply  bubbling  over  with 
delight  as  he  grasped  her  hand,  and  before  she  could  say 
a  word  he  said: 

"You  are  Miss  Sallie  Worth,  the  Secretary  of  the 
Association.  My  foster  mother  has  described  you  so 
accurately  I  should  know  you  among  a  thousand." 

"Yes;  I  have  been  looking  forward  with  pleasure  to 
our  trip  to  the  Springs  when  I  knew  we  should  meet  you. 
I  am  delighted  to  see  you  a  month  earlier."  She  said 
this  with  a  simple  earnestness  that  gave  it  a  deeper 
meaning  than  a  mere  commonplace. 

"Do  you  know  that  you  nearly  knocked  me  off  my 
feet  when  I  first  saw  you  in  the  crowd?" 

"Why?     How?"  she  asked. 

"You  startled  me." 

"I  hope  not  unpleasantly,"  she  said,  looking  up  at 
him  with  her  blue  eyes  twinkling. 

"Oh,  heavens,  no!  You  are  such  a  perfect  image 
of  the  girl  she  described  that  I  was  so  astonished  I 
came  near  shouting  at  the  top  of  my  voice,  'There 
she  is ! '  And  that  would  have  astonished  the  audience, 
wouldn't  it?" 
4  "It  would  indeed  !  "  she  replied,  blushing  just  a  little. 

"But  I'm  forgetting  my  mission,  Mr.  Gaston.  Papa 
sent  me  to  apologise  for  his  absence  to-day.  He  was 
called  out  of  the  city  on  some  mill  business.  He  told 
me  to  bring  you  home  to  dine  with  him.  I'm  the 
Secretary,  you  know,  and  exercise  authority  in  these 
matters,  so  I've  fixed  that  programme.  You  have  no 
choice.  The  carriage  is  waiting." 


CHAPTER  V 
THE  MORNING  OF  LOVE 

TO  his  dying  day  Gaston  will  never  forget  that  ride 
to  her  home  with  Sallie  Worth  by  his  side.  It 
was  a  perfect  May  day.  The  leaves  on  the 
trees  were  just  grown,  and  flashed  in  their  green  satin 
under  the  Southern  sun,  and  every  flower  seemed  in 
full  bloom. 

A  great  joy  filled  his  heart  with  a  sense  of  divine 
restfulness.  He  was  unusually  silent.  And  then  she 
said  something  that  made  him  open  his  eyes  in  new 
wonder. 

"Don't  drive  so  fast,  Ben,  and  go  around  the  longest 
way;  I'm  enjoying  this."  She  paused  and  a  mischievous 
look  came  into  her  eyes  as  she  saw  his  expression.  "  I've 
got  the  lion  here  by  my  side.  I  want  to  show  all  the 
girls  in  town  that  I'm  the  only  one  here  to-day.  It  isn't 
often  I've  a  great  man  tied  down  fast  like  this." 

"  Why  did  you  spoil  the  first  part  of  that  pretty  speech 
with  the  last?"  he  said,  with  a  frown. 

"It  was  only  your  vanity  that  made  me  pause."     \ 

"Could  you  read  me  like  that?" 

"Of  course;  all  men  are  vain — much  vainer  than 
women."  Again  there  was  a  long  silence. 

They  had  reached  the  outskirts  of  the  city  now  and 
were  driving  slowly  through  the  deep  shadows  of  a 
great  forest. 

"What  beautiful  trees  !"  he  exclaimed. 

"They  are  fine.     Do  you  love  big  trees?" 

"5 


216  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"Yes;  they  always  seem  to  me  to  have  a  soul.  It  used 
to  make  me  almost  cry  to  watch  them  fall  beneath 
Nel.se's  axe.  I'd  never  have  the  heart  to  clear  a  piece 
of  woods  if  I  owned  it." 

"I'm  so  glad  to  hear  you  say  that.  Papa  laughed  at 
me  when  I  said  something  of  the  sort  when  he  wanted  to 
cut  these  woods.  He  left  them  just  to  please  me.  They 
belong  to  our  place.  They  hide  the  house  till  you  get 
right  up  to  the  gate,  but  I  love  them." 

Again  he  looked  into  her  eyes  and  was  silent. 

"Now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  you're  the  only  girl 
I've  met  to-day  who  hasn't  mentioned  my  speech. 
That's  strange." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  I'm  not  saving  up  something 
very  pretty  to  say  to  you  later  about  it?" 

"Tell  me  now." 

"No;  you've  spoiled  it  by  your  vanity  in  asking." 
She  said  this  looking  away  carelessly. 

"Then  I'll  interpret  your  silence  as  the  highest 
compliment  you  can  pay  me.  When  words  fail  we 
are  deeply  moved." 

"Vanity  of  vanity,  all  is  vanity,  saith  the  preacher !" 
she  exclaimed,  lifting  her  pretty  hands. 

They  turned  through  a  high  arched  iron  gateway, 
across  which  was  written  in  gold  letters,  "Oakwood." 

On  a  gently  rising  hill  on  the  banks  of  the  Catawba 
River  rose  a  splendid  old  Southern  mansion,  its  big  Greek 
columns  gleaming  through  the  green  trees  like  polished 
ivory.  A  wide  porch  ran  across  the  full  width  of  the 
house  behind  the  big  pillars,  and  smaller  columns  sup 
ported  the  full  sweep  of  a  great  balcony  above.  The 
house  was  built  of  brick  with  Portland  cement  finish 
and  the  whole  painted  in  two  shades  of  old  ivory,  with 
moss-green  roof  and  dark  rich  Pompeian  red  brick 
foundations.  With  its  green  background  of  magnolia 


The  Morning  of  Love  217 

trees  it  seemed  like  a  huge  block  of  solid  ivory  flashing 
in  .splendour  from  its  throne  on  the  hill.  The  drive 
wound  down  a  little  dale,  around  a  great  circle  filled 
with  shrubbery  and  flowers,  and  up  to  the  pillared 
porte-cochere. 

"What  a  beautiful  home!"  Gaston  exclaimed,  with 
intense  feeling. 

"It  is  beautiful,  isn't  it !"  she  said  with  delight.  "I 
love  every  brick  in  its  walls,  every  tree  and  flower  and 
blade  of  grass." 

"I've  always  dreamed  of  a  home  like  that.  Those  big 
columns  seem  to  link  one  to  the  past  and  add  dignity 
and  meaning  to  life." 

"Then  you  can  understand  how  I  love  it,  when  I  was 
born  here  and  every  nook  and  corner  has  its  love 
message  for  me  from  the  past  that  I  have  lived,  as  well 
as  its  wider  meaning  which  you  see." 

"The  old  South  built  beautiful  homes,  didn't  they? 
And  that  was  one  of  the  finest  things  about  the  proud 
old  days,"  he  said. 

"Yes;  and  the  new  South  of  which,  you  spoke 
to-day  will  not  forget  this  heritage  of  the  old,  when 
it  comes  to  itself  and  shakes  off  its  long  suffering 
and  poverty." 

Strange  to  hear  that  sort  of  a  speech  from  a  girl  who- 
loves  society,  dances  divinely  and  dresses  to  kill.  He 
thought  of  the  words  of  his  foster  mother  with  a  pang. 
He  hoped  she  was  joking  about  those  things.  But  he 
had  a  strong  suspicion  from  the  consciousness  of  power 
with  which  she  had  tried  once  or  twice  to  tease  him  that 
they  were  going  to  prove  fatally  true. 

"  Mother  tells  me  you  were  in  Baltimore,  in  that  swell 
girls'  school  on  North  Charles  Street,  when  I  was  a 
student  at  the  University?" 

"Yes;  and  we  gave  reception  after  reception  to  the 


2i8  The  Leopard's  Spots 

Hopkins  men  and  you  never  once  honoured  us  with 
your  presence." 

14  But  I  didn't  know  you  were  there,  Miss  Sallie." 

"Of  course  not!  If  you  had,  I  wouldn't  speak  to 
you  now.  They  said  you  were  a  recluse — that  you 
never  went  into  society  and  didn't  speak  to  a  woman 
for  four  years." 

"How  did  you  hear  that?" 

"Bob  St.  Clare  told  me  after  I  came  home  by  way  of 
apology  for  your  bad  manners  in  so  shamefully  neglecting 
a  young  woman  from  your  own  state." 

"I'll  make  amends  now." 

"Oh!  I'm  not  suffering  from  loneliness  as  I  did  then. 
You  know  Bob  put  us  up  to  inviting  you  to  deliver  the 
address.  He  said  you  were  the  only  orator  in  North 
Carolina." 

"Bob's  the  best  friend  I  ever  had.  We  entered 
college  together  at  fifteen,  and  became  inseparable 
friends." 

He  helped  her  from  the  carriage  and  she  ran  lightly  up 
the  high  stoop. 

"Now  come  here  and  look  at  the  view  of  the  river 
before  Papa  comes  and  begins  to  talk  about  the  tremen 
dous  water-power  in  the  falls." 

He  followed  her  to  the  end  of  the  long  porch  over 
looking  the  river.  Behind  the  house  the  hill  abruptly 
plunged  downward  to  the  water's  edge  in  a  mountainous 
«liff.  The  river  wound  around  this  cliff  past  the  house, 
emerging  into  a  valley  where  it  described  a  graceful 
curve,  almost  doubling  on  itself,  and  rolled  softly  away 
amid  green  overhanging  willows  and  towering  syca 
mores  till  lost  in  the  distance  toward  the  blue  spurs  of 
King's  Mountain. 

"A  glorious  view!"  said  Gaston,  looking  long  and 
lovingly  at  the  silver  surface  of  the  river. 


The  Morning  of  Love  219 

"Do  you  love  the  water,  Mr.  Gaston?" 

"Passionately.  I  was  born  among  the  hills,  but  the 
first  time  I  saw  the  ocean  sweeping  over  five  miles  of 
sand  reefs  and  breaking  in  white  thundering  spray  at 
my  feet  I  stood  there  on  a  sand-dune  on  our  wild  coast 
and  gazed  entranced  for  an  hour  without  moving.  Of 
all  the  things  God  ever  made  on  this  earth  I  love  the 
waters  of  the  sea,  and  all  moving  water  suggests  it  to 
me.  That  river  says,  I  must  hurry  to  the  sea  !" 

"It  is  strange  we  should  have  such  similar  tastes," 
she  said,  seriously.  But  it  did  not  seem  strange  to  him. 
Somehow  he  expected  to  find  her  agree  with  every 
whim  and  fancy  of  his  nature. 

"Now  we  will  find  Mamma.  She  is  such  an  invalid 
she  rarely  goes  out.  Papa  will  be  home  any  minute." 

"We  are  glad  to  welcome  you,  Mr.  Gaston,"  said 
her  mother  in  a  kindly  manner.  "I'm  sure  you've 
enjoyed  the  drive  this  beautiful  day,  if  Sallie  hasn't 
been  trying  to  tease  you.  The  boys  say  she's  very 
tiresome  at  times." 

"Why,  Mamma,  I'm  surprised  at  you.  The  idea  of 
such  a  thing  !  There's  not  a  word  of  truth  in  it,  is  there, 
Mr.  Gaston?" 

"Certainly  not,  Miss  Sallie.  I'll  testify,  Mrs.  Worth, 
that  your  daughter  has  been  simply  charming." 

She  ran  to  meet  her  father  at  the  door.  There  was 
the  sound  of  a  hearty  kiss,  a  little  whispering,  and  the 
General  stepped  briskly  into  the  parlour  where  she  had 
left  her  guest. 

"Pleased  to  welcome  you  to  our  home,  young  man. 
They  say  downtown  that  you  made  the  greatest  speech 
ever  heard  in  Independence.  Sorry  I  missed  it.  We'll 
have  you  to  dinner  anyway.  I  knew  your  brave  father 
in  the  army.  And  now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I  saw  you 
once  when  you  were  a  boy.  I  was  struck  with  your 


220  The  Leopard's  Spots 

resemblance  to  your  father  then,  as  now.  You  showed 
me  the  way  down  to  Tom  Camp's  house.  Don't 
you  remember?" 

"Certainly,  General;  but  I  didn't  flatter  myself  that 
you  would  recall  it." 

"I  never  forget  a  face.  I  hope  you  have  been  enjoy 
ing  yourself?" 

"More  than  I  can  express,  sir." 

"I'll  join  you  by  and  by,"  said  the  General,  tak 
ing  leave. 

"Now  isn't  he  a  dear  old  Papa?"  she  said,  demurely. 

"He  certainly  knows  how  to  make  a  timid  young 
man  feel  at  home." 

"Are  you  timid?" 

"Hadn't  you  noticed  it?" 

"Well,  hardly."  She  shook  her  head  and  closed  her 
eyes  in  the  most  tantalising  way.  "To  see  the  cool 
insolence  of  conscious  power  with  which  you  looked  that 
great  crowd  in  the  face  when  you  arose  on  that  plat 
form,  I  shouldn't  say  I  was  struck  with  your  timidity." 

"I  was  really  trembling  from  head  to  foot." 

"I  wonder  how  you  would  look  if  really  cool!" 

"Honestly,  Miss  Sallie,  I  never  speak  to  any  crowd 
without  the  intensest  nervous  excitement.  I  may  put 
on  a  brave  front,  but  it's  all  on  the  surface." 

"I  can't  believe  it,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head. 

She  looked  at  his  serious  face  for  a  moment  and 
was  silent. 

"It's  queer  how  we  run  out  of  something  to  say, 
isn't  it?"  she  asked  at  length. 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  it." 

"Come  up  to  the  observatory  and  I'll  show  you  Lord 
Cornwallis's  lookout  when  he  had  his  headquarters  here 
during  the  Revolution." 

She  lifted  her  soft,  white  skirts  and  led  the  way  up 


The  Morning  of  Love  221 

the  winding  mahogany  stairs  into  the  observatory  from 
which  the  surrounding  country  could  be  seen  for  miles. 

"Here  Lord  Cornwallis  waited  in  vain  for  Colonel 
Ferguson  to  join  him  with  his  regiment  from  King's 
Mountain." 

"Where  my  great-grandfather  was  drawing  around 
him  his  cordon  of  death  with  his  fierce  mountain  men," 
interrupted  Gaston. 

"Was  your  great-grandfather  in  that  battle?" 

"Yes.  It  was  fought  on  his  land,  and  his  two-story 
log  house  with  the  rifle  holes  cut  in  the  chimney-jambs 
still  stands." 

"Then  we  will  shake  hands  again,"  she  cried,  with 
enthusiasm,  "for  we  are  both  children  of  the  Revolu 
tion!" 

Gaston  took  her  beautiful  hand  in  his  and  held  it 
lingeringly.  Never  in  all  his  life  had  the  mere  touch  of 
a  human  hand  thrilled  him  with  such  strange  power. 
How  long  he  held  it  he  could  not  tell,  but  it  was 
with  a  sort  of  hurt  surprise  he  felt  her  gently 
withdraw  it  at  last. 

They  had  reached  the  parlour  again,  and  he  slowly 
fell  into  an  easy  chair. 

"Do  you  dance,  Miss  Sallie?" 

"Why,  yes;  don't  you  dance?" 

"Never  tried  in  my  life." 

"Don't  you  approve  of  dancing?" 

"I  never  had  time  to  think  about  it.  It  always 
seemed  silly  to  me." 

"It's  great  fun." 

"I'd  take  lessons  if  you  would  agree  to  teach  me  and 
I  could  dance  with  you  all  the  time  and  keep  all  the 
other  fellows  away." 

"Well,  I  must  say  that's  doing  fairly  well  for  a  timid 
young  man's  first  day's  acquaintance.  What  will  you 


222  The  Leopard's  Spots 

say  when  you  once  become  fully  self-possessed?"  She 
lifted  her  high-arched  eyebrows  and  looked  at  him  with 
her  blue  eyes  full  of  tantalising  fun  until  he  had  to  look 
down  at  the  floor  to  keep  from  saying  more  than  he 
dared.  When  he  looked  up  again  he  changed  the 
subject. 

"Miss  Sallie,  I  feel  like  I've  known  you  ever  since  I 
was  born."  She  blushed  and  made  no  reply. 

Dinner  was  announced,  and  Gaston  was  amazed  to 
see  Allan  McLeod  enter,  chattering  familiarly  with  the 
General.  He  seemed  on  the  most  intimate  terms  with 
the  family,  and  his  eye  lingered  fondly  on  Sallie's  face 
in  a  way  that  somehow  Gaston  resented  as  an  im 
pertinence. 

"I  didn't  even  know  you  were  acquainted  with  the 
Honourable  Allan  McLeod,  Miss  Sallie,"  said  Gaston,  as 
they  entered  the  parlour  alone. 

"Yes;  he  was  a  sort  of  ward  of  Papa's  when  he  was 
a  boy.  Papa  hates  his  politics,  but  he  has  always  been 
in  and  out  almost  like  one  of  the  family  since  I  can 
remember.  I  think  he's  a  fascinating  man,  don't  you?" 

"I  do;  but  I  don't  like  him." 

"Well,  he's  a  great  friend  of  mine;  you  mustn't 
quarrel." 

Gaston  went  to  the  hotel  with  his  brain  in  a  whirl, 
wondering  just  what  she  meant.  It  was  nearly  twelve 
o'clock  before  he  left  the  General's  house.  How  he  had 
passed  these  eleven  hours  he  could  not  imagine.  They 
seemed  like  eleven  minutes  in  one  way.  In  another  he 
seemed  to  have  lived  a  lifetime  that  day. 

"By  George,  she's  an  angel!"  he  kept  saying  over 
and  over  to  himself  as  he  climbed  to  his  room,  for 
getting  the  elevator. 


CHAPTER  VI 

BESIDE  BEAUTIFUL  WATERS 

WHEN  Gaston  tried  to  sleep  he  found  it  i 
sible.     His  brain  was  on  fire,  every  nerve 
quivering  with  some  new  mysterious  power 
and    his   imagination   soaring   on   tireless    wings.     He 
rolled  and  tossed  an  hour,  then  got  up,  and  sat  by 
his  open  window  looking  out  over  the    city  sleeping 
in    the    still,    white    moonlight.      He   looked  into  the 
mirror  and  grinned. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  me!"  he  exclaimed.  "I 
believe  I'm  going  crazy." 

He  sat  down  and  tried  to  work  the  thing  out  by  the 
formulas  of  cold  reason.  "It's  perfectly  absurd  to  say 
I'm  in  love.  My  wild  romancing  about  a  passion  that 
will  grasp  all  life  in  its  torrent  sweep  is  only  a  boy's  day 
dream.  The  world  is  too  prosy  for  that  now." 

Yet  in  spite  of  this  argument  the  room  seemed  as 
bright  as  day,  and  the  moon  was  only  a  pale  sister  light 
to  the  radiance  from  the  face  of  the  girl  he  had  seen 
that  day.  Her  face  seemed  to  him  smiling  close  into 
his  now.  The  light  of  her  eyes  was  tender  and  soothing 
like  the  far-away  memory  of  his  mother's  voice. 

"It's  a  passing  fancy,"  he  said  at  last,  after  he  had 
sat  an  hour  dreaming  and  dreaming  of  scenes  he  dared 
not  frame  in  words  even  alone.  He  stood  by  the 
window  again. 

"What  a  beautiful  old  world  this  is  after  all!"  he 
thought,  as  he  gazed  out  on  the  tops  of  the  oaks  whose 

223 


224  The  Leopard's  Spots 

young  leaves  were  softly  sighing  at  the  touch  of  the 
night  winds.  Turning  his  eye  downward  to  the  street 
he  saw  the  men  loading  the  morning  papers  into  the 
wagons  for  the  early  mail. 

"I  wonder  what  sort  of  report  of  my  speech  they  put 
in?"  he  exclaimed.  Unable  to  sleep,  he  hastily  dressed, 
went  down  and  bought  a  paper. 

On  the  front  page  was  a  flattering  portrait,  two 
columns  in  width,  with  a  report  of  his  speech  rilling  the 
entire  page,  and  an  editorial  review  of  a  column  and  a 
half.  He  was  hailed  as  the  coming  man  of  the  state  in 
this  editorial,  which  contained  the  most  extravagant 
praise.  He  knew  it  was  the  best  thing  he  had  ever 
done,  and  he  felt  for  the  minute  proud  of  himself  and 
his  achievement.  This  contemplation  of  his  own 
greatness  quieted  his  nerves  and  he  fell  asleep.  He 
was  awakened  by  the  first  rolling  of  carts  on  the  pave 
ments  at  dawn.  He  knew  he  had  not  slept  more  than 
two  hours,  but  he  was  as  wide  awake  as  though  he  had 
slept  soundly  all  night. 

"  I  must  be  threatened  with  that  spell  of  fever  Auntie 
has  been  worrying  about  since  I  was  a  boy  ! "  he  laughed 
as  he  slowly  dressed. 

"It's  now  six  o'clock,  and  my  train  don't  leave  til? 
nine,"  he  mused.  "But  am  I  going  on  that  train? 
That's  the  question." 

The  fact  was,  now  he  came  to  think  of  it,  there  was 
no  need  of  hurrying  home.  He  would  stay  awhile  and 
look  this  mystery  in  the  face  until  he  was  disillusioned. 
Besides,  he  wanted  to  find  out  what  McLeod's  visit 
meant.  He  had  a  vague  feeling  of  uneasiness  when 
he  recalled  the  way  McLeod  had  assumed  in  the 
General's  house.  He  had  told  Sallie  he  must  hurry 
home  on  the  morning's  train  for  no  earthly  reason 
than  that  he  had  intended  to  do  so  when  he  came. 


Beside  Beautiful  Waters  225; 

So  after  breakfast  he  wrote  her  a  little  note. 

"My  Dear  Miss  Worth:  My  train  left  me.  Will 
you  have  compassion  on  a  stranger  in  a  strange  city 
and  let  me  call  to  see  you  again  to-day? 

"  CHARLES  GASTON." 

He  waited  impatiently  until  he  heard  his  train  leave, 
and  then  told  the  boy  to  make  tracks  for  the  General's 
house. 

A  peal  of  laughter  rang  through  the  hall  when  Sallie's 
dancing  eyes  read  that  note. 

"Oh,  the  story-teller!"  she  cried. 

And  this  was  the  answer  she  sent  back: 

"Certainly.  Come  out  at  once.  I'll  take  you  buggy 
driving  all  by  myself  over  a  lovely  road  up  the  river. 
I  do  this  in  acknowledgment  of  the  gracious  flattery 
you  pay  me  in  the  story  you  told  about  the  train.  Of 
course  I  know  you  waited  till  the  train  left  before  you 

sent  the  note.  SALLIE  WORTH." 

/ 

"Now  I  wonder  if  that  young  rascal  of  a  boy  told  her 
I  wrote  that  note  an  hour  ago?  I'll  wring  his  neck  if 
he  did.  Come  here,  boy!" 

The  Negro  came  up  grinning  in  hopes  of  another 
quarter. 

"Did  you  tell  that  young  lady  anything  about  when 
I  wrote  that  note?" 

"Na-sah!  Nebber  tole  her  nuffin'.  She  des  laugh 
and  laugh  fit  ter  kill  herse'f  des  quick  es  she  reads  de 
note." 

Gaston  smiled  and  threw  him  another  tip. 

"Yassah,  she's  a  knowin'  lady,  sho's  you  bawn.  i 
been  dar  lots  er  times  'fo'  dis !" 


226  The  Leopard's  Spots 

Gaston  was  tempted  to  ask  him  for  whom  he  carried 
those  former  messages.  He  walked  with  bounding 
steps,  his  being  tingling  to  his  finger-tips  with  the  joy 
of  living.  The  avenue  leading  the  full  length  of  the 
city  toward  the  General's  house  was  two  miles  long 
before  it  reached  the  woods  at  the  gate.  It  seemed 
only  a  step  this  morning. 

As  he  passed  through  the  cool  shade  of  the  woods  a 
squirrel  was  playing  hide  and  seek  with  his  mate  on  the 
old  crooked  fence  beside  the  road.  His  little  nimble 
mistress  flew  up  a  great  tree  to  its  topmost  bough  and 
chattered  and  laughed  at  her  lover  as  he  scrambled 
swiftly  after  her.  She  waited  until  he  was  just  reaching 
out  his  arm  to  grasp  her,  and  then  with  another  scream 
of  laughter  leaped  straight  out  into  the  air  to  another 
tree-top,  and  then  another  and  another  until  lost  in  the 
heart  of  the  forest. 

"I  wonder  if  that's  going  to  be  my  fate !"  he  mused 
as  he  turned  into  the  gateway. 

Again  the  majestic  beauty  of  that  gleaming  mass  of 
ivory  on  the  hill  with  its  green  background  swept  his 
soul  with  its  power.  It  seemed  a  different  shade  of 
colour  now  that  he  saw  it  with  the  sun  at  another 
angle.  Its  surface  seemed  to  have  the  soft  sheen  of 
creamy  velvet. 

He  paused  and  sighed:  "Why  should  I  be  so  poor! 
If  I  only  had  a  house  like  that  I'd  turn  that  big  banquet 
hall  on  the  left  wing  into  a  library,  and  I'd  ask  no 
higher  heaven." 

And  he  fell  to  wondering  if  it  would  really  be  worth 
the  having  without  the  face  and  voice  of  the  girl  who 
was  there  within  waiting  for  him.  No;  he  was  sure  of 
it  this  morning  for  the  first  time  in  his  life.  The  cer 
tainty  of  this  conviction  brought  to  his  heart  a  feeling 
of  loneliness  and  despair.  When  he  thought  of  his 


Beside  Beautiful  Waters  227 

abject  poverty  and  the  long  years  of  struggle  before  himr 
and  of  that  beautiful  accomplished  young  woman,  rich, 
petted,  the  belle  of  the  city,  the  gulf  that  separated  their 
lives  seemed  impassable. 

"I'm  playing  with  fire,"  he  said  to  himself  as  he 
looked  up  at  the  graceful  pillars  with  their  carved  and 
fluted  capitals.  "Well,  let  it  be  so.  Let  me  live  life  to 
its  deepest  depths  and  its  highest  reach.  It  is  better  to 
love  and  lose  than  never  to  love  at  all."  And  he 
walked  into  the  cool  hall  with  the  ease  and  assurance 
of  its  master. 

Sallie  greeted  him  with  the  kindliest  grace. 

"I'm  so  glad  you  stayed  to-day,  Mr.  Gaston.  I 
should  have  been  really  chagrined  to  think  I  made  so 
slight  an  impression  on  you  that  you  could  walk  delib 
erately  away  on  a  prearranged  schedule.  I  am  not 
used  to  being  treated  so  lightly." 

He  tried  to  make  some  answer  to  this  half-serious 
banter,  but  was  so  absorbed  in  just  looking  at  her  he 
said  nothing. 

She  was  dressed  in  a  morning  gown  of  a  soft  red 
material,  trimmed  with  old  cream  lace.  The  material 
of  a  woman's  dress  had  never  interested  him  before. 
He  knew  calico  from  silk,  but  beyond  that  he  never 
ventured  an  opinion.  To  colour  alone  he  was  responsive. 
This  combination  of  red  and  creamy,  white,  with  the 
bodice  cut  low,  showing  the  lines  of  her  beautiful  white 
shoulders,  and  the  great  mass  of  dark  hair  rising  in 
graceful  curves  from  her  full  round  neck,  heightened 
her  beauty  to  an  extraordinary  degree.  As  she  walked 
the  clinging  folds  of  her  dress,  outlining  her  queenly 
figure,  seemed  part  of  her  very  being  and  to  be  imbued 
with  her  soul.  He  was  dazzled  with  the  new  revelation 
of  her  power  over  him. 

"Have  you  no  apology,  sir,  for  pretending  that  you 


228  The  Leopard's  Spots 

were  going  home  this  morning?"  she  said,  seating  herself 
"by  his  side. 

"You  didn't  ask  me  to  stay  with  fervour." 

"It  ought  not  to  have  been  necessary." 

"Didn't  you  really  know  I  was  not  going?" 

"Yes." 

"I'm  glad." 

"Yes;  you  see,  I'm  twenty-one  years  old,  and  I've 
seen  such  things  happen  before."  She  purred  this 
slowly  and  burst  into  laughter. 

"Now,  Miss  Sallie,  that's  cruel  to  throw  me  down 
in  a  heap  of  dead  dogs  I  don't  even  know." 

"Don't  you  like  dogs?" 

"Four-legged  ones,  yes.     But  I  like  my  friends  alive." 

"Oh  !  It  didn't  kill  any  of  them.  They  are  all  strong 
and  hearty.  But  if  you're  so  domestic  in  your  tastes 
why  haven't  you  settled  in  life  ? " 

"Been  waiting  to  find  the  woman  of  my  dreams." 

"And  you  haven't  found  her?" 

"Not  up  to  yesterday." 

"Oh!   I  forgot,"  she  said  archly;  "you're  so  timid!  " 

"Honestly,  I  was." 

"Up  to  yesterday!"  she  murmured.  "Well,  tell  me 
what  your  dreams  demanded  ?  What  kind  of  a  creature 
must  she  be?" 

"I  have  forgotten." 

"What!  Forgotten  the  dreams  of  your  ideal 
woman  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Since  when?" 

"Yesterday." 

"Thanks.  We  are  getting  on  beautifully,  aren't  we? 
You  will  get  over  your  timidity  in  time,  I'm  sure." 

He  smiled,  looked  down  at  the  pattern  of  the  carpet 
and  did  not  speak  for  some  minutes.  His  soul  was 


Beside  Beautiful  Waters  229 

thrilled  and  satisfied  in  her  presence.     As  he  lifted  his 
eyes  from  the  floor  they  rested  on  the  piano. 

"  Will  you  play  for  me,  Miss  Sallie  ?  Auntie  says  you 
play  delightfully." 

"Auntie?     Who  is  Auntie?" 

"Mrs.  Durham,  my  foster  mother,  of  course.  Excuse 
my  unconscious  assumption  of  your  familiarity  with  all 
my  antecedents.  I  can't  get  over  the  impression  that 
I  have  known  you  all  my  life." 

"And  that  reminds  me  that  I  started  to  say  some 
thing  to  you  yesterday  that  was  perfectly  ridiculous  > 
but  caught  myself  in  time." 

"I  wish  you  had  said  it." 

"Mrs.  Durham  is  a  great  flatterer  of  those  she  loves. 
She  thinks  I  can  play.  But  I'm  the  veriest  amateur.'* 

"Let  me  be  the  judge." 

She  was  looking  over  her  music,  and  he  had  opened 
the  piano. 

"I'll  play  for  you  with  pleasure.  Sit  there  in  that  big 
armchair.  I'm  sorry  I  tired  you  so  early  in  the  day 
with  my  chatter." 

And  before  he  could  protest  her  fingers  were  touching; 
the  piano  with  the  ease  of  the  born  musician. 

He  sat  enraptured  as  he  watched  the  sinuous  grace 
with  which  her  fingers  touched  the  ivory  keys,  and 
heard  their  answering  cry,  which  seemed  the  breath 
of  her  owr  -oul  in  echo. 

She  had  an  easy,  apparently  careless  touch.  To  old, 
familiar  music  she  gave  a  charm  that  was  new,  adding 
something  indefinable  to  the  musician's  thought  that 
gave  luminous  power  to  its  interpretation.  He  had  no 
knowledge  of  the  technique  of  music,  but  now  he  knew 
that  she  was  improvising.  The  piano  was  the  voice  of 
her  own  beautiful  soul,  and  it  was  pulsing  with  a  tender 
ness  that  melted  him  to  tears. 


230  The  Leopard's  Spots 

Suddenly  the  music  ceased,  and  she  turned  her  face 
full  on  his  before  he  could  brush  away  a  big  tear  that 
rolled  down.  She  flushed,  closed  the  piano,  and  quietly 
resumed  her  place  by  his  side. 

"And,  now,  you  haven't  told  me  how  well  I  played. 
You're  the  first  young  man  so  careless." 

"I  have  told  you." 

"How?" 

"The  way  you  told  me  yesterday  that  you  under 
stood  me — with  a  tear." 

"I  appreciate  it  more  than  words." 

"So  did  I,"  he  slowly  said.     Again  a  long  silence. 

"  But  we  do  love  to  hear  folks  say  in  words  what  they 
think  sometimes.  I  confess  I  was  immensely  elated 
over  the  fine  things  the  paper  said  about  me  this 
morning." 

"It's  a  wonder,  too.  Our  editor  is  a  cranky  sort  of 
fellow.  I  was  afraid  he'd  say  a  lot  of  mean  things  about 
you.  But  Papa  says  you  swallowed  him  whole." 

"Did  you  wish  him  to  say  kind  things  about  me?  " 

"Of  course,"  she  said,  and  then  the  look  of  mischief 
came  back  in  her  eye.  "Were  you  not  our  guest?  I 
should  have  felt  like  whipping  him  if  he  hadn't  said 
nice  things." 

"Then  I'll  tell  you  what  I  think  about  your  playing. 
You  gave  those  strings  a  soul  for  the  first  time  for  me — • 
beautiful,  living,  throbbing,  that  spoke  a  r  ^age  of  its 
own.  The  piece  you  improvised  I  shall  never  forget. 
Such  music  seems  to  me  the  grasping  of  the  infinite  by 
hands  that  touch  the  impalpable  and  bringing  it  for  a 
moment  within  the  sphere  of  matter  that  a  kindred  soul 
may  hear  and  see  and  feel." 

She  started  to  make  some  reply,  but  her  lips  quivered 
and  she  looked  away  across  the  valley  at  the  river  and 
made  no  answer. 


Beside  Beautiful  Waters  231 

At  dinner  the  General  was  in  his  most  genial  mood, 
laughing  and  joking,  and  drawing  out  Gaston  on  politics 
and  cotton-mill  developments,  and  trying  with  all  his 
might  to  tease  his  daughter. 

As  he  took  his  departure  for  the  mills,  he  said :  "Young 
man,  I'd  ask  you  to  go  with  me  and  look  at  the  machin 
ery,  but  I  see  it's  no  use.  I  heard  her  twisting  you  around 
her  finger  with  that  piano  awhile  ago." 

"Papa,  don't  be  so  silly!"  cried  Sallie,  slipping  her 
arm  around  him,  putting  one  hand  over  his  mouth,  and 
kissing  him.  "Go  on  to  your  work.  I'll  entertain 
Mr.  Gaston." 

"  Indeed  you  will !"  he  shouted,  throwing  her  another 
kiss  as  he  left. 

"He's  the  dearest  father  any  girl  ever  had  in  this 
world.  I  know  you  loved  yours,  didn't  you,  Mr. 
Gaston?" 

"Mine  was  killed  in  battle,  Miss  Sallie.  I  never  knew 
him.  But  I  had  the  most  beautiful  mother  that  ever 
lived.  I  lost  her  when  a  mere  boy.  And  the  world 
has  never  been  the  same  since.  I  envy  you." 

"I  forgot.  Forgive  me,"  she  softly  said,  looking  up 
into  his  face  with  tenderness. 

"If  I  had  only  had  a  sister!  How  my  heart  used  to 
ache  when  I'd  see  other  boys  playing  with  a  sister !  My 
poor  little  starved  soul  was  so  hungry  I  would  go  off 
in  the  woods  sometimes  and  cry  for  hours." 

"I  wish  I  had  known  you  when  you  were  a  little 
boy — I  can't  conceive  of  a  dignified  orator  swaying 
thousands  running  around  as  a  barefoot  boy.  But 
you  must  have  gone  barefoot,  for  I  think  Papa  said 
so,  didn't  he?" 

"Indeed  I  did,  and  sometimes  I  am  afraid  for  the 
very  good  reason  I  didn't  have  any  shoes." 

"Well,  you  wouldn't  have  worn  them  if  you  had.     I 


232  The  Leopard's  Spots 

always  wanted  to  be  a  boy  just  to  go  barefooted.  I 
think  girls  lose  so  much  of  a  child's  life  by  having  to 
wear  shoes." 

"But  you  never  knew  what  it  meant  to  want  shoes 
and  not  be  able  to  have  them,"  he  said,  looking  at  the 
shining  tips  of  her  slippers  peeping  from  the  edge  of 
her  dress. 

"No;  but  I  never  thought  these  things  made  a  great 
difference  in  our  lives,  after  all.  I  believe  it  is  what  we 
are,  not  what  we  have,  that  gives  life  meaning." 

He  looked  at  her  intently. 

"  I  must  get  ready  now  for  our  drive.  The  horse  will 
be  here  in  ten  minutes.  Enjoy  the  view  on  the  porch 
until  I  am  ready,"  and  she  bounded  up  the  stairs  to 
her  room. 

In  a  few  minutes  she  was  by  his  side  again,  dressed  in 
spotless  white  as  he  had  seen  her  first.  She  lifted  the 
lines  over  the  sleek  horse  and  he  dashed  swiftly  down 
the  drive. 

Oh,  the  peace  and  bliss  of  that  drive  along  the  lonely 
river  road  by  its  cool  green  banks ! 

How  he  poured  out  to  her  his  inmost  thoughts — things 
he  had  not  dared  to  whisper  alone  with  himself  and  God. 
And  then  he  wondered  why  he  had  thus  laid  bare  his 
secret  dreams  to  this  girl  he  had  known  but  twenty- 
four  hours.  Nonsense  !  Down  in  his  soul  he  knew  he  had 
known  her  forever.  Before  the  world  was  made,  ages 
and  ages  ago  in  eternity,  he  had  known  her.  He  turned 
to  her  now,  drawn  by  a  resistless  force,  as  a  plant  turns 
toward  the  sunlight  for  its  life.  How  he  could  talk  that 
day !  All  he  had  ever  known  of  art  and  beauty,  all 
he  knew  of  the  deep  truths  of  life,  were  on  his  lips,  leap 
ing  forth  in  simple  but  impassioned  words.  For  hours 
he  lay  at  her  feet  where  she  sat  on  a  rock,  high  up  on 
the  cliffs  overlooking  the  river,  and  poured  out  his  heart 


Beside  Beautiful  Waters  233 

like  a  child.  And  she  listened  with  a  dreamy  look  as 
though  to  the  music  of  a  master. 

At  last  she  sprang  to  her  feet  and  looked  at  her 
watch. 

"Oh!  Mamma  will  be  furious.  It  will  be  after  sun 
down  before  we  can  get  home.  We  must  hurry." 

"I'll  make  it  all  right  with  your  Mamma,"  he  replied, 
as  though  he  were  skilled  in  meeting  such  emergencies. 

"Don't  you  speak  to  her.  It'll  be  all  I  can  do  to 
manage  her." 

The  twilight  was  gathering  when  they  reached  the 
house,  and  an  angry,  anxious  mother  was  waiting  high 
up  on  the  stoop. 

"Watch  me  smooth  every  wrinkle  out  of  her  brow 
now,"  she  whispered,  as  she  flew  up  the  steps. 

Before  her  mother  could  say  a  word,  a  white  hand  was 
on  her  mouth  and  pretty  lips  were  whispering  some 
thing  in  her  ears  she  had  never  heard  before.  There 
was  the  sound  of  a  kiss,  and  he  heard  Sallie  say,  "Not 
a  word  ! ' ' 

And  the  mother  greeted  him  with  a  smile  and  a 
curiously  searching  look.  She  chatted  pleasantly  until 
her  daughter  returned  from  her  room,  and  then  left  her. 
Again  it  was  nearly  twelve  o'clock  before  he  reached 
the  hotel. 

The  next  morning  Bob  St.  Clare  broke  in  on  him 
before  he  was  out  of  bed. 

"Look  here,  you  sly  dog,  what  are  you  doing  slipping 
and  sliding  around  here  yet?" 

"  Bob,  you're  the  man  I  want  to  see.  Tell  me  all  you 
know  about  the  Worths." 

' '  The  Worths  ?     Which  one  ? " 

"There's  only  one  so  far  as  I  can  see." 

"Well,  you  may  find  out  there's  two  if  you  should 
happen  to  collide  with  the  General. ' ' 


234  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"Does  he  cut  up  at  times?" 

"  He's  all  right  till  he  turns  on  you,  and  then  you  want 
to  find  shelter." 

"Did  you  ever  run  up  against  him?" 

"No;  I  never  got  that  far.  He's  hail-fellow-well-met 
with  every  youngster  in  town.  He  will  laugh  and  joke 
about  his  daughter  until  he  thinks  she  is  in  earnest  about 
a  fellow,  and  then  he  swoops  down  on  him  like  a  hawk. 
I'll  bet  a  hundred  dollars  he's  playing  you  now  for  all 
you're  worth  against  the  latest  favourite.  But  Miss 
Sallie — she's  an  angel!" 

"Look  here,  Bob,  you're  not  in  love  with  her?" 

"Well,  I'm  convalescing  at  present,  my  boy.  Every 
boy  in  town  has  been  there,  but  I  don't  believe  she 
cares  a  snap  for  a  man  of  us  unless  it's  that  big  red 
headed  McLeod.  I  can't  make  his  position  out  exactly." 

"Did  she  jolt  you  hard  when  you  hit  the  ground?" 

"Easiest  thing  you  ever  saw.  She  has  a  supreme 
genius  for  painless  cruelty.  When  the  time  comes  she 
can  pull  your  eye  tooth  out  in  such  a  delicate,  friendly 
way  you  will  have  to  swear  she  hasn't  hurt  you." 

"You  still  go?" 

"Lord,  yes;  we  all  do — sort  of  a  congress  of  the  lost 
meet  down  there.  They  all  hang  on.  She  keeps  the 
friendship  of  every  poor  devil  she  kills." 

"You  know  you  make  the  cold  chills  run  down  my 
back  when  you  talk  like  that." 

"Are  you  in  love  with  her,  Gaston?" 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  don't  know." 

"Then  what  in  the  thunder  have  you  been  doing  out 
there  two  days  and  nights,  if  you  haven't  made  love 
to  her?" 

"Just  basking  in  the  sun." 

"Well,  you  are  a  fool.  Eleven  hours  the  first  day 
and  fifteen  hours  yesterday.  Confound  you !  Don't  you 


Beside  Beautiful  Waters  235 

know  a  dozen  fellows  in  town  are  cursing  you  for  all 
they  can  think  of?" 

"What  about?" 

"Why,  for  trying  to  hog  the  whole  time,  day  and 
night.  She  won't  let  a  mother's  son  of  them  come 
near  till  you're  gone." 

"Well,  that's  immense!"  exclaimed  Gaston,  slapping 
his  friend  on  the  back. 

"  Don't  be  too  sure !  She's  just  sizing  you  up.  She's 
done  the  same  thing  a  dozen  times  before." 

"I  don't  believe  it." 

And  he  didn't  go  home  until  the  end  of  the  week, 
when  the  last  cent  of  his  money  was  gone. 


CHAPTER   VII 
DREAMS   AND    FEARS 

HE  was  on  the  train  at  last,  homeward  bound. 
Gazing  out  of  the  window  of  the  car,  he  was 
trying  to  find  where  he  stood.  He  must 
be  in  love.  He  faced  the  remarkable  fact  that  he  had 
spent  a  whole  week  in  Independence  at  an  expensive 
hotel,  and  squandered  every  cent  of  the  small  fee  he  had 
received  for  his  address,  in  what  would  be  otherwise  a 
perfectly  senseless  manner. 

Yet  he  felt  rich.  He  was  sure  he  had  never  spent 
money  so  wisely  and  economically  in  his  life.  Beyond 
the  shadow  of  a  doubt  he  was  in  love — desperately  and 
hopelessly  committed  to  this  one  girl  for  life.  He  said 
it  in  his  heart  with  a  shout  of  triumph.  Life  was  not  a 
sterile  desert  of  brute  work.  It  was  true.  Love,  the 
magician  of  the  ages,  lived  in  this  world  of  lost  faiths 
and  dead  religions. 

Now  that  he  was  leaving  he  felt  a  tingling  impulse  to 
leap  off  the  train,  cut  across  the  fields  and  run  back  to 
her — and  he  laughed  aloud,  just  as  the  train  came  to  a 
sudden  stop,  and  everybody  looked  at  him  and  smiled. 

A  drummer  looked  up  from  a  novel  he  was  reading 
and  said: 

"It  is  a  fine  day,  partner,  isn't  it?" 

"Never  saw  a  finer,"  answered  Gaston,  with  another 
happy  laugh. 

He  dwelt  long  and  greedily  on  the  consciousness  of 
this  new  vitalising  secret  he  felt  for  the  first  time  throb- 

236 


Dreams  and  Fears  237 

bing  in  his  soul.  He  bathed  his  heart  in  its  warmth 
until  he  could  feel  the  red  blood  rush  to  the  ends  of  his 
fingers  with  its  new  fever.  He  breathed  its  perfume 
until  every  nerve  quivered.  "I  have  never  lived 
before.  No  matter  now  if  I  die,  I  have  lived,"  he  said, 
slowly  and  reverently. 

He  wondered  long  and  wistfully  what  was  in  her 
heart  while  this  wild  tumult  was  going  on  in  him.  He 
wondered  if  it  were  possible  she  loved  him.  It  seemed 
too  good  to  be  true.  He  was  afraid  to  believe  it.  And 
yet  his  whole  soul  with  every  power  of  his  being  cried 
out  that  she  did.  He  could  not  have  been  mistaken  in 
the  message  he  read  in  the  liquid  depths  of  her  eyes 
and  the  delicate  tenderness  of  her  voice.  Words  may 
say  nothing,  but  these  signs  are  the  language  of  the 
universal.  Still,  others  had  been  equally  sure,  and  been 
deceived.  Might  not  he,  too,  make  the  fatal  mistake  ? 
It  was  possible.  And  there  was  the  pain. 

She  had  not  uttered  a  single  word  in  all  the  hours 
they  spent  together  that  might  not  be  interpreted  in  & 
conventional,  meaningless  way. 

Yet  he  had  given  to  every  one  of  these  words  a  soul 
meaning  that  spoke  directly  to  his  inner  being  and  not 
his  ear. 

He  had  never  spoken  a  word  of  shallow  love-making 
to  a  woman  in  his  life.  To  him  love  was  too  holy  a 
mystery.  It  would  have  been  the  blasphemy  of  the 
Holy  Ghost — a  sin  that  would  not  be  forgiven  in  this 
world  or  the  world  to  come.  His  college  mates  had 
called  him  a  crank  .on  this  subject,  but  he  shut  his 
lips  in  a  way  that  always  closed  the  argument,  and  they 
let  him  alone  with  his  Idol. 

"I  am  afraid  yet  to  put  it  to  the  test,"  he  said 
at  last.  "I  must  have  time  to  reveal  my  best  self  to 
her.  I  must  see  her  again,  live  close  to  her  day  by 


238  The  Leopard's  Spots 

day,  and  bring  to  bear  on  her  every  power  of  bod) 
and  soul  I  possess." 

Mrs.  Durham  met  him  with  dancing  eyes.  "Oh,  I've 
heard  from  you,  sir!" 

"Kiss  me,  Auntie,  and  be  kind.  I'm  in  the  last 
stages  of  delirium." 

He  took  both  her  hands  in  his  and  looked  at  her  long. 
"How  good  you've  been  to  me,  Auntie,  in  all  the  past. 
You  never  looked  so  beautiful  as  to-day.  I  want  to 
thank  you  for  every  word  you've  said  to  Miss  Sallie  for 
me.  It  may  have  helped  just  a  little,  anyway." 

"Well,  you  are  indeed  in  the  last  stages!"  she 
exclaimed,  gleefully. 

"And  you  are  glad  of  it?" 

"Of  course  I  am;  it  will  make  a  man  of  you." 

"But  suppose  I  lose?" 

She  was  silent  a  moment  and  then  slipped  her  arm 
gently  about  him,  drew  down  his  ear  and  whispered: 
"You  shall  not  lose !  I've  set  my  heart  on  it." 

He  pressed  her  hand  and  said,  "  How  like  my  sweet 
mother's  voice  was  that!" 

And  then  they  fell  to  discussing  plans  for  giving  Miss 
Sallie  and  her  friend  a  jolly  time  at  the  Springs. 

"But,  Auntie,  these  plans  don't  seem  to  me  exactly 
what  I'd  like.  You  see,  I  want  to  be  the  whole  thing. 
It  may  be  hopelessly  selfish,  but  I  can't  help  it." 

"Well,  that  isn't  best." 

"Say,  Auntie,  what  do  I  look  like,  anyway?  How 
would  you  describe  my  make-up  ?  Let's  get  at  the  weak 
dpots  and  splint  them  up  a  little.  You  know,  I  never 
seriously  cared  a  rap  before  about  my  looks." 

"Well,"  she  answered,  slowly  regarding  him,  "I'll 
be  perfectly  frank  with  you.  You  are  tall — at  least 
two  inches  taller  than  the  average  man,  and  your 
muscular  body  gives  one  the  impression  of  power.  You 


Dreams  and  Fears  239 

have  black  hair,  dark-brown  eyes  that  look  out  from 
your  shaggy,  straight  eyebrows  with  a  piercing  light." 

"You  think  the  brows  too  shaggy?" 

"No;  I  like  them.  They  suggest  reserve  power  and 
brain  capacity." 

"Good !  I  never  thought  of  that." 

"You  have  a  face  that  is  massive,  almost  leonine,  and 
a  square-cut,  determined  mouth,  that,  always  clean 
shaven,  sometimes  looks  too  grim." 

"I'll  remember  that  and  look  pleasant." 

"You  have  a  big  hand  and  sometimes  shake  hands 
too  strongly.  You  have  a  handsome,  aristocratic  foot 
when  you  wear  decent  shoes.  You  often  walk  hump- 
shouldered,  and  sit  so,  too." 

"I'll  brace  up." 

"You  have  deep  vertical  wrinkles  between  your  eyes 
just  where  your  straight  eyebrows  meet." 

"Heavens,  I  didn't  know  I  had  wrinkles!" 

"Yes;  but  they  mean  habits  of  thought,  like  your 
stooping  shoulders.  I  don't  object  to  such  wrinkles  in  a 
man's  face.  But  the  best  feature  of  all  your  stock  is 
your  eye.  Your  big  brown  eyes  are  about  the  only 
perfect  thing  about  you.  There's  infinite  tenderness  in 
them.  Now  and  then  they  gleam  with  a  hidden  fire 
that  tells  of  enthusiasm,  thought,  will,  character,  and 
dauntless  courage." 

She  looked  and  they  were  misty  with  tears. 

He  pressed  her  hand.  "Auntie,  I  didn't  know  how 
much  you've  loved  me  all  these  years.  How  love  opens 
one's  eyes !" 

"You  have  a  high  temper,  plenty  of  pride,  and  are 
given  to  looking  on  the  dark  side  of  things  too  quickly, 
You  lack  poise  of  character  and  sureness  of  touch  yet, 
but  with  it  all  yours  is  a  masterful  nature." 

"One  you  think  that  a  perfect  woman  could  love?" 


240  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"There  are  no  perfect  women;  but  I'll  match  you 
against  any  woman  I  know.  So  there,  now,  take 
courage." 

"  I  will,"  he  gravely  answered. 

He  hurried  to  his  office  and  read  his  mail.  There 
were  two  letters  retaining  his  services  for  jury  work  in 
important  cases.  His  heart  leaped  at  the  sign  of  coming 
success.  What  a  new  meaning  love  gave  to  every 
event  in  life. 

He  turned  to  his  books  and  began  immediately  a 
searching  study  of  every  question  involved  in  these 
cases.  He  would  carry  the  court  by  storm.  He  would 
lead  the  jury  spellbound  by  his  eloquence  to  a  certain 
verdict.  How  clear  his  brain !  He  felt  he  was  alive  to 
his  finger-tips,  and  argus-eyed. 

He  worked  hour  after  hour  without  the  slightest 
fatigue  or  knowledge  of  the  flight  of  time.  He  looked 
up  at  last  with  surprise  to  find  it  was  night,  and  was 
startled  by  the  voice  of  the  Preacher  calling  him  from 
below. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?  Mrs.  Durham  sent 
me  to  find  you.  She  was  afraid  you  had  gone  up  on 
the  roof  and  walked  off." 

"I'll  be  ready  in  a  minute,  Doctor,"  he  called  from 
the  window. 

"I  haven't  known  you  to  take  to  law  so  violently  in 
four  years.  What's  up?  Got  a  capital  case?" 

"Yes,  I  believe  I  have.  It's  a  matter  of  life  and 
death  to  one  poor  soul,  anyhow." 

"Now,  honour  bright,  haven't  you  been  working  all 
this  afternoon  on  a  love-letter  that  you've  just  finished 
and  addressed  to  Independence?" 

"No,  sir.  To  tell  you  the  fact,  I  didn't  dare  to  ask 
her  to  write  to  me.  I  knew  I  couldn't  control  a  pen." 

"My  boy,  I  wish  you  success  with  all  my  heart.     It 


Dreams  and  Fears  241 

makes  me  young  again  to  look  into  your  face.  I've 
had  my  supper.  When  you've  finished  your  confab 
with  your  Auntie,  come  out  here  in  the  square  to 
the  seat  under  the  old  oak;  I  want  to  talk  to  you 
on  some  important  business." 

"What  have  you  been  doing?"  asked  Mrs.  Durham. 

"Building  a  home  for  her!  "  he  cried  in  a  whisper. 
He  went  behind  the  chair  where  his  foster  mother 
sat  pouring  his  tea,  bent  low  and  kissed  her  high  white 
forehead.  "My  own  Mother  —  I'll  never  call  you 
Auntie  again!" 

Tears  sprang  to  her  eyes,  and  she  kissed  his  hand, 
tenderly  holding  it  to  her  lips. 

"Ah!     Love  is  a  wonder-worker,  isn't  he,  Charlie?" 

"Yes;  and  I  can't  realise  the  joy  that  lifts  and  inspires 
me  when  I  think  that  I  am  one  of  the  elect.  It's  too 
good  to  be  true.  I  have  been  initiated  into  the  great 
secret.  I  have  tasted  the  water  of  Life.  I  shall  not 
see  Death." 

She  looked  at  him  with  pride.  "I  knew  you  would 
make  a  matchless  lover.  I  envy  Sallie  her  young  eyes 
and  ears." 

"You  need  not  envy  her.     You  will  never  grow  old." 

"So  much  the  worse  if  we  miss  the  dreams  that  fill 
the  souls  of  the  young,"  she  said,  with  an  accent  of 
sorrowful  pride. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  UNSOLVED  RIDDLE 

G ASTON  found  the  Preacher  quietly  smoking, 
seated  on  the  rustic  under  a  giant  oak  that  stood 
in  the  corner  of  the  square. 

Under  this  tree  the  speakers'  stand  had  always  been 
built  for  joint  debates  in  political  campaigns. 

Here,  when  a  boy,  he  had  heard  the  great  debate 
between  Zebulon  B.  Vance  and  Judge  Thomas  Settle 
in  the  fierce  campaign  which  followed  the  overthrow  of 
Legree  when  the  Republican  party,  under  the  leader 
ship  of  Judge  Settle,  made  its  desperate  effort  for  life. 
Settle,  who  was  a  man  of  masterful  personality,  eloquent, 
and  in  dead  earnest  in  his  appeal  for  a  new  South,  had 
made  a  speech  of  great  power  to  a  crowd  that  were 
hostile  to  every  idea  for  which  he  stood;  and  yet  he 
dazzled  or  stunned  them  into  sullen  silence. 

And  then  he  recalled  with  flashes  of  memory  vivid  as 
lightning  the  miracle  that  had  followed.  He  could  see 
Vance  now  as  he  slowly  lifted  his  big  lion-like  head,  and 
calmly  looked  over  the  sea  of  faces  with  eagle  eyes 
that  could  flash  with  resistless  humour  or  blaze  with  the 
fury  of  elemental  passion.  He  reviewed  the  terrible 
past  in  which  he  had  played  the  tragic  r61e  of  their  war 
Governor,  and  tore  into  tatters  with  the  facts  of  history 
the  logic  of  his  opponent.  And  then  he  opened  his 
batteries  of  wit  and  ridicule — wit  that  cut  to  the 
heart's  red  blood,  and  yet  convulsed  the  hearer  with  its 
unexpected  turn.  Ridicule  that  withered  and  scorched 

24.2 


The  Unsolved  Riddle  243 

what  it  touched  into  ashes.  Five  thousand  people  now 
in  breathless  suspense  as  he  swung  them  into  heaven 
on  the  wings  of  deathless  words,  now  screaming  with 
laughter  and  now  hushed  in  tears. 

The  scene  that  followed  this  triumph !  Two  stalwart 
mountain  men  snatched  him  from  the  rostrum  and  bore 
him  on  their  shoulders  through  the  shouting,  weeping 
crowd.  Women  pressed  close  and  kissed  his  hands,  and 
old  men  reached  forward  their  hands  to  touch  his 
garments.  Ah,  if  he  could  inherit  the  power  of  this  king 
among  men!  To-night,  as  Gaston  walked  under  that 
tree  with  his  heart  beating  with  the  ecstasy  of  a  new 
found  source  of  life,  he  felt  that  he  could  do,  and  that 
he  would  do,  what  the  master  had  done  before  him. 

"Charlie,  I've  heard  some  startling  news  since  you 
left  home,  and  I  can't  sleep  nights  thinking  about  it." 

"You've  heard  of  McLeod's  scheme." 

"Exactly.  And  it  means  the  ruin  of  this  state  and 
the  ruin  of  the  South  unless  it  can  be  defeated." 

"  How  are  you  going  to  do  it  ?  " 

"It's  a  puzzle,  but  it's  got  to  be  done.  Half  the 
farmers  in  the  strongholds  of  Democracy  are  crazy  over 
their  fool  Sub-Treasury  and  a  hundred  other  fakir 
dreams.  McLeod  has  promised  them  everything — Sub- 
Treasury,  pumpkin  leaves  for  money — anything  they 
want  if  they  will  join  forces  with  his  niggers  and  carry 
the  state.  You  are  the  man  to  begin  now  a  quiet  but 
thorough  organisation  of  the  young  men  and  oust  the 
fools  from  control  of  the  party. 

"When  the  white  race  begin  to  hobnob  with  the 
Negro  and  seek  his  favour  they  must  grant  him  absolute 
equality.  That  means  ultimately  social  as  well  as 
political  equality.  You  can't  ask  a  man  to  vote  for  you 
and  kick  him  down  your  front  doorstep  and  tell  him 
to  come  around  the  back  way." 


244  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"I  think  you  exaggerate  the  social  danger,  but  I  see 
the  political  end  of  it." 

"I  don't  exaggerate  in  the  least.  I  am  looking  into 
the  future.  This  racial  instinct  is  the  ordinance  of  our 
life.  Lose  it  and  we  have  no  future.  One  drop  of 
Negro  blood  makes  a  Negro.  It  kinks  the  hair,  flattens 
the  nose,  thickens  the  lip,  puts  out  the  light  of  intellect, 
and  lights  the  fires  of  brutal  passions.  The  beginning 
of  Negro  equality  as  a  vital  fact  is  the  beginning  of  the 
end  of  this  nation's  life.  There  is  enough  Negro  blood 
here  to  make  mulatto  the  whole  Republic." 

"Such  a  danger  seems  too  remote  for  serious  alarm 
to  me,"  replied  the  younger  man. 

"Ah!  There's  the  tragedy!  "  passionately  cried  the 
Preacher.  "You  younger  men  are  growing  careless  and 
indifferent  to  this  terrible  problem.  It's  the  one 
unsolved  and  unsolvable  riddle  of  the  coming  century. 
Can  you  build,  in  a  Democracy,  a  nation  inside  a  nation 
of  two  hostile  races  ?  We  must  do  this  or  become  mulatto, 
and  that  is  death.  Every  inch  in  the  approach  of  these 
races  across  the  barriers  that  separate  them  is  a  move 
ment  toward  death.  You  cannot  seek  the  Negro  vote 
without  asking  him  to  your  home  sooner  or  later.  If 
you  ask  him  to  your  house,  he  will  break  bread  with  you 
at  last.  And  if  you  seat  him  at  your  table,  he  has  the 
right  to  ask  your  daughter's  hand  in  marriage." 

"It  seems  to  me  a  far  cry  to  that.  But  I  see  the 
political  crisis.  What  is  your  plan?" 

"This — organise  the  young  Democracy  in  every 
township  in  the  state  and  put  yourself  at  its  head, 
control  the  primaries  and  down  the  old  crowd.  They 
have  got  to  follow  you.  Fight  the  campaign  with  the 
desperation  of  despair.  If  you  are  defeated,  God 
have  mercy  on  us,  but  you  will  be  ready  for  the 
next  battle." 


The  Unsolved  Riddle  245 

"I'll  do  it !  "  said  Gaston,  with  emphasis. 

"  Then  I  want  you  to  go  on  a  mission  to  Colonel  Duke, 
the  President  of  the  National  Farmers'  Alliance.  He's 
a  good  Baptist.  He  means  well,  but  he's  crazy.  He 
dreams  of  the  Presidency  when  he  has  established  the 
Sub-Treasury  for  the  farmers.  He's  afraid  of  the  Negro, 
and  is  nervous  about  using  him.  He  knows  I  am  the 
most  influential  Baptist  preacher  in  the  state.  Tell 
him  I  say  you  will  win,  and  that  we  will  give  him 
the  nomination  for  Governor  and  put  him  in  line  for 
the  Presidency." 

"When  shall  I  go  to  see  him?" 

"Immediately.     Get  ready  to-night." 

The  next  week  McLeod  was  seated  in  his  office  at 
Hambright  receiving  reports  from  his  political  hench 
men  at  Raleigh. 

"I  tell  you,  McLeod,  there's  a  hitch.  Something's 
dropped.  Duke's  as  coy  as  a  maid  of  sixteen.  He  says 
no  decision  can  be  made  now  until  he  submits  a  lot  of 
rot  to  all  the  lodges  of  the  Alliance  and  the  'Referen 
dum'  decides  these  points.  You'd  better  get  hold  of 
him  and  comb  the  kinks  out  of  him  quick." 

McLeod's  eyes  flashed  with  anger  as  he  twisted  the 
points  of  his  red  mustache. 

"It's  that  damned  Baptist  Preacher !  "  he  said.  "I'll 
get  even  with  him  yet  if  it's  the  only  thorough  job  I  do 
on  this  earth." 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  RHYTHM  OF  THE  DANCE 

i 

BEFORE  boarding  the  train  he  was  to  take  for 
Raleigh,  he  lingered  with  Mrs.  Durham  talking, 
talking,  talking  about  the  wonder  of  his  love. 
As  he  rose  to  leave  he  said,  "Now,  Mother,  dear " 

"Charlie,  you  just  say  that  so  beautifully  as  to  make 
me  your  slave." 

"Of  course  I  do.  What  I  was  going  to  say  is,  I 
can't  write  to  her.  I  don't  dare.  You  can.  Tell  her  all 
about  me,  won't  you?  Everything  that  you  think 
will  interest  and  please  her,  and  that  will  be  discreet. 
Your  intuitions  will  tell  you  how  far  to  go.  Tell  her 
how  hard  I'm  working  and  what  an  important  mission 
I've  undertaken,  and  the  tremendous  things  that  hang 
on  its  outcome.  And  tell  her  how  impatiently  I'm 
waiting  for  her  to  come  to  the  Springs.  Be  sure  to  tell 
her  that." 

"All  right.  I'll  act  as  your  attorney  in  you  absence. 
But  hurry  back;  she  must  not  get  here  first.  I  want 
you  to  be  on  the  spot." 

"I'll  be  here  if  I  have  to  give  up  politics  and  go 
into  business — and  you  know  how  I  hate  that  word 
'business.'" 

"I'll  telegraph  you  if  she  comes." 

"  Don't  let  her  come  till  I  get  back.  Tell  her  the  hotel 
isn't  fit  to  receive  guests  yet — it  never  is,  for  that  matter 
— but  anything  to  give  me  time  to  get  here." 

He  worked  with  indomitable  courage  for  two  weeks, 

246 


The  Rhythm  of  the  Dance  247 

visiting  the  principal  towns  in  the  state,  and  everywhere 
arousing  intense  enthusiasm.  There  was  something 
contagious  in  his  spirit.  The  young  fellows  were 
charmed  by  his  eager,  intense  way  of  looking  at  things ; 
they  caught  the  infection  and  he  made  hundreds  of 
staunch  friends. 

"You're  just  in  time!"  cried  his  mother,  greeting 
him  with  radiant  face  on  his  return.  "She  is  coming 
to-morrow.  I've  a  beautiful  letter  from  her — I  think 
one  of  the  sweetest  letters  a  girl  ever  wrote." 

"Let  me  see  it !" 

"No." 

"Why,  Mother,  I  thought  you  were  all  on  my  side !" 

"But  I'm  not.  I'm  a  woman,  and  you  can't  see 
some  things  she  says." 

"Then  it's  something  awfully  nice  about  me." 

"Maybe   the   opposite." 

"Then  you'd  resent  it  for  me." 

"I  love  her,  too,  sir." 

' '  Let  me  see  just  the  tip  end  of  it  where  she  signs 
her  name?" 

"You  can  see  that  much;  there " 

"Doesn't  she  write  a  lovely  hand?"  He  looked  long 
and  tenderly.  ' '  That  pretty  name — Sallie  !  So  old- 
fashioned  and  so  homelike.  It's  music,  isn't  it?" 

"I  didn't  know  you  could  be  so  silly,  Charlie." 

"It  is  funny,  isn't  it?  You  know  I  think,  after 
all,  we  are  made  out  of  the  same  stuff,  saint  and 
sinner,  philosopher  and  fool.  The  differences  are  only 
skin  deep." 

"You  don.'t  think  she  is  made  out  of  ordinary  clay?" 

"Oh!  Lord,  no;  I  meant  the  men.  Every  woman  is 
something  divine  to  me.  I  think  of  God  as  a  woman, 
not  a  man — a  great  loving  Mother  of  all  Life.  If  I 
ever  saw  the  face  of  God  it  was  in  my  mother's  face." 


248  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"Hush!     You  will  make  me  do  anything  you  wish." 

"No,  no;  I  don't  want  to  see  that  letter  unless  you 
think  it  best." 

"Well,  you  will  not  see  any  more  of  it,  sir." 

When  Gaston  met  them  at  the  depot  with  a  carriage 
to  take  Sallie,  her  mother,  and  Helen  Lowell,  her 
Boston  schoolmate,  to  the  Springs,  the  first  passenger 
to  alight  was  Bob  St.  Clare. 

"What  in  the  thunder  are  you  doing  here?  This 
town  is  quarantined  against  you,"  said  Gaston. 

"Hush  !"  said  Bob,  in  a  stage  whisper.  "She's  here. 
There's  her  valise." 

"That's  why  you  can't  land.  Two's  company, 
three's  a  crowd.  I  like  you,  Bob,  but  I  won't  stand 
for  this." 

The  crowd  was  pouring  off  the  train  and  had  cut  off 
Sallie's  party  in  the  center  of  the  car. 

"  Gaston,  I  just  came  up  for  your  sake.  I'm  looking 
after  Miss  Lowell.  I'm  lost,  ruined.  Scared  to  say  a 
word.  I  thought  maybe  you'd  help  me  out.  We'll 
pool  chances.  I'll  talk  for  you  and  you  talk  for  me." 

"It's  a  bargain,  St.  Clare." 

"I  want  a  separate  carriage — get  me  one  quick!" 

In  a  few  moments,  the  brief  introduction  over, 
Gaston  was  seated  in  the  carriage  facing  Sallie  and  her 
mother,  whirling  along  the  road,  over  the  long  hills 
toward  the  Campbell  Sulphur  Springs  in  the  woods, 
two  miles  from  the  town. 

How  beautiful  and  fresh  she  looked  to  him  even  in  a 
dusty  travelling  dress !  He  was  drinking  the  nectar 
from  the  depths  of  her  eyes. 

"Now,  don't  you  think  Helen  the  prettiest  girl  you 
ever  saw,  Mr.  Gaston  ? "  she  asked. 

"I  hadn't  noticed  it." 

"Where  were  your  eyes?" 


The  Rhythm  of  the  Dance  249 

"Elsewhere.  I'm  so  glad  you  are  going  to  spend  a 
month  at  the  Springs,  Miss  Sallie.  I  used  to  go  to 
school  there  when  a  little  boy.  They  had  a  girls' 
school  there  in  the  winter  and  boys  under  twelve 
were  admitted.  I  know  every  nook  and  corner  of 
the  big  forest  back  of  the  hotel.  I'll  see  that  you 
don't  get  lost." 

"That  will  be  fine.  But  you  must  bring  every  good- 
looking  boy  in  the  county  and  make  him  bow  down  and 
worship  Helen.  She  is  not  used  to  it,  but  she  is  tickled 
to  death  over  these  Southern  boys,  and  I'm  going  to 
give  her  the  best  time  she  ever  had  in  her  life." 

"I'll  do  everything  you  command — except  bow  down 
myself.  Bob's  agreed  to  do  that." 

She  smiled  in  spite  of  her  effort  to  look  serious,  and 
her  mother  pinched  her  arm.  She  laughed. 

"So  you  and  Bob  St.  Clare  were  out  there  plotting 
before  we  could  get  out  of  the  train?" 

"Nothing  unlawful,  I  assure  you." 

The  first  day  she  allowed  Gaston  to  monopolise,  and 
then  began  his  torture.  She  declared  there  were  others 
with  whom  she  must  be  friendly.  She  determined 
to  give  a  ball  to  Helen  the  next  week,  and  began 
preparations. 

It  was  a  new  business  for  Gaston,  but  he  did  his  best 
to  please  her,  in  a  pathetic,  half-hearted  sort  of  way. 
He  ran  all  sorts  of  errands,  and  executed  her  orders 
with  tact. 

"  Oh,  Sallie,  let  the  ball  go !  I  don't  care  for  it.  I 
can  do  nothing  to  ever  repay  you  for  the  good  time  I've 
been  having,"  said  Helen,  as  they  sat  in  her  room  one 
night. 

"We  are  going  to  have  it,  I  tell  you.  I  don't  care 
how  much  Mr.  Gaston  sulks.  I'm  not  taking  orders 
from  him." 


250  .    The  Leopard's  Spots 

"No;  but  you'd  like  to — you  know  it." 

"What  an  idea!" 

"You  know  you  like  him  better  than  all  the  others 
put  together." 

"  Nonsense  !     I'm  as  free  as  a  bird  !  " 

"Then  what  are  you  blushing  for?" 

"I'm  not."     But  her  face  was  scarlet. 

"You  Southern  girls  are  so  queer.  The  moment  you 
like  a  man  you're  as  sly  as  a  cat  and  deny  that  you  even 
know  him.  When  I  find  the  man  I  love  I  don't  care 
who  knows  it,  if  he  loves  me." 

"What  do  you  think  of  Bob  St.  Clare?" 

"I  like  him." 

"Hasn't  he  made  love  to  you  yet?" 

"No;  and  the  only  one  of  the  crowd  who  hasn't.  I 
don't  mind  confessing  that  I  never  had  love  made  to  me 
before  this  visit.  In  Boston  it's  a  serious  thing  for  a 
young  man  to  call  once.  The  second  call  means  a 
family  council,  and  at  the  third  he  must  make  a  declara 
tion  ot  his  intentions  or  face  consequences.  Down 
here  the  boys  don't  seem  to  have  anything  to  do 
except  to  make  their  girl  friends  happy,  and  feel  they 
are  the  queens  of  the  earth,  and  that  their  only  mission 
is  to  minister  to  them.  And  some  of  your  girls  are 
engaged  to  six  boys  at  the  same  time." 

"Don't  you  like  it?" 

"It's  glorious.  I  feel  that  if  I  hadn't  come  down 
here  to  see  you  I'd  have  missed  the  meaning  of  life." 

"Don't  our  boys  make  love  beautifully?" 

"I  never  dreamed  of  anything  like  it.  They  make  it 
so  seriously,  so  dead  in  earnest,  you  can't  help  believing 
them." 

"And  Bob  hasn't  said  a  word?" 

"Hasn't  breathed  a  hint." 

"Then  you  have  him  sure.     They  are  hit  hard  when 


The  Rhythm  of  the  Dance  251 

they  are  silent  like  that.  Bob  made  love  to  me  the 
second  day  he  ever  saw  me." 

"Don't  tease  me,  dear,"  said  Helen,  as  she  put  her 
pretty  rosy  cheek  against  the  dark  beauty  of  the  South. 
"Do  you  really  think  he  likes  me  seriously?" 

"He's  crazy  about  you,  goose!" 

There  was  the  sound  of  a  kiss. 

"I  can't  tell  stories  about  it  like  you,  Sallie;  I'm 
Afraid  I'm  in  love  with  him,"  she  whispered. 

"Well,  I'll  make  him  court  you  to-morrow  or  have 
him  thrashed,  if  you  say  so." 

"Don't  you  dare!" 

"Then  do  just  as  I  tell  you  about  this  ball  and  get 
yourself  up  regardless." 

On  the  night  of  the  ball,  Gaston,  sitting  out  on  the 
porch,  felt  nervous  and  fidgety,  like  a  fish  out  of  water. 
He  knew  he  had  no  business  there,  and  yet  he  couldn't 
go  away.  They  had  a  quarrel  about  the  ball.  Sallie 
had  insisted  that  Gaston  honour  her  by  coming  in 
evening  dress  whether  he  danced  or  not. 

"But,  Miss  Sallie,  I'll  feel  like  a  fool.  Everybody  in 
the  country  knows  that  I  never  entered  a  ballroom." 

"Do  you  care  so  much  what  everybody  thinks 
about  you?" 

"No;  but  I  care  what  I  think  of  myself." 

"Well,  if  you  don't  come  in  full  dress  suit  I  won't 
speak  to  you." 

He  turned  pale  in  spite  of  his  effort  at  self-control. 
Then  a  queer  steel-like  look  came  into  his  eyes. 

"I  shall  be  more  than  sorry  to  fail  to  please  you,  but 
I  have  no  dress  suit.  I  have  never  had  time  for  social 
frivolities.  I  can't  afford  to  buy  one  for  this  occasion. 
I  couldn't  be  nigger  enough  to  hire  one,  so  that's  the 
end  of  it.  I'll  have  to  come  dressed  in  my  own  fashion 
or  stay  at  home." 


252  The  Leopard's  Spots 

41  Then  you  can  stay  at  home,"  she  snapped. 

"I'll  not  do  it,"  he  coolly  replied. 

"Well,  I  like  your  insolence." 

"I'm  glad  you  do.  I'll  come  as  I  corne  to  all  such 
functions,  an  outsider.  I'll  sit  out  here  on  the  porch 
in  the  shadows  and  see  it  from  afar.  If  I  could  only 
dance,  I  assure  you  I'd  try  to  fill  every  number  of  your 
card.  Not  being  able  to  do  so,  I  simply  decline  to 
make  a  fool  of  myself."  j 

"For  that  compliment  I'll  compromise  with  you. 
Wear  that  big  pompous  Prince  Albert  suit  you  spoke  in 
at  Independence  and  I'll  come  out  on  the  porch  and 
chat  with  you  awhile." 

He  sat  there  now  in  the  shadows  waiting  for  this  ball 
to  begin.  It  was  a  clear  night  the  first  week  in  June. 
The  new  moon  was  hanging  just  over  the  tree-tops.  His 
heart  was  full  to  bursting  with  the  thought  that  the 
girl  he  loved  would,  in  a  few  minutes,  be  whirling  over 
that  polished  floor  to  the  strains  of  a  waltz,  with  another 
man's  arm  aro^ind  her.  He  never  knew  how  deeply  he 
hated  dancing  before — that  rhythmic  touch  of  the 
human  body,  set  to  the  melody  of  motion,  and  voiced 
in  the  passionate  cry  of  music.  He  felt  its  challenge 
to  his  love  to  mortal  combat — his  love  that  claimed 
this  one  woman  as  his  own,  body  and  soul. 

The  music  from  the  Italian  band  was  in  full  swing, 
its  plaintive  notes  instinct  with  the  passion  of  sunny 
Italy,  a  music  all  Southern  people  love. 

He  felt  that  he  would  choke.  A  sudden  thought 
came  to  him.  Tearing  a  sheet  of  paper  from  a  note 
book,  he  scrawled  this  line  upon  it: 

"  Dear  Miss  Sallie:  Please  let  me  see  you  a  moment 
in  the  parlour  before  you  enter  the  ballroom.  GASTON." 

At  least  he  would  see  her  in  her  ball    costume    first. 


The  Rhythm  of  the  Dance  253 

Yes,  and  if  she  should  hate  him  for  it,  he  would  beg 
her  not  to  dance  that  night.  He  saw  McLeod,  bowing 
and  scraping  in  the  ballroom,  arrayed  in  faultless  full 
dress,  and  glancing  toward  the  door.  He  knew  he  was. 
waiting  for  her  to  ask  her  to  dance.  How  he  would 
like  to  wring  his  handsome  neck ! 

The  boy  returned  immediately  and  said  the  lady  was- 
waiting  in  the  parlour.  He  entered  with  a  sense  of 
fear  and  confusion. 

She  came  to  him  with  her  bare  arm  extended,  a  daz 
zling  vision  of  beauty.  She  was  dressed  in  a  creamy 
white  crape  ball  gown,  cut  modestly  decollete  over  her 
full  bust  and  gleaming  shoulders,  sleeveless,  and  held 
with  tiny  straps  across  the  curve  of  the  upper  arm. 

He  was  stunned.  She  smiled  in  triumph,  conscious 
of  her  resistless  power. 

"Forgive  me  for  my  selfishness  in  keeping  you  here 
just  a  moment  from  the  rest.  I  wished  to  see  you 
first." 

"What!  To  inspect,  like  Mamma;  to  see  if  I  look 
all  right  ?  " 

"No;  with  a  mad  desire  to  keep  you  as  long  as 
possible  from  the  others." 

Then  she  looked  up  at  him  and  said  slowly  and  softly: 

"Would  it  please  you  very  much  if  I  were  not  to 
dance  to-night  ?  " 

"I  wouldn't  dare  ask  so  selfish  a  thing  of  you.  It  is 
with  you  a  simple  habit  of  polite  society,  and  you  enjoy  it 
as  a  child  does  play.  I  understand  that,  and  yet  if  you 
do  not  dance  to-night  I  feel  as  though  I  would  crawl 
round  this  world  on  my  hands  and  knees  for  you  if  you 
would  ask  it.  There  are  men  waiting  for  you  in  that 
ballroom  whom  I  hate." 

She  looked  at  him  timidly  as  though  she  were  afraid 
he  was  about  to  say  too  much,  and  replied: 


254  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"Then  I  will  not  dance  to-night.  I'll  just  preside 
over  the  ball  and  let  Helen  be  the  queen." 

"Words  have  no  power  to  convey  my  gratitude.  I 
count  all  my  little  triumphs  in  life  nothing  to  this.  You 
promised  to  join  me  on  the  porch.  Don't  change  that 
part  of  the  programme.  I  will  talk  to  your  mother 
until  you  come." 

Gaston  went  downstairs  treading  on  air.  He  sought 
her  mother  and  devoted  himself  to  her  with  supreme 
tact.  He  discovered  her  tastes  and  prejudices  and  paid 
her  that  knightly  deference  some  young  men  express 
easily  and  naturally  to  their  elders.  He  had  always 
been  a  favourite  with  old  people.  He  prided  himself 
on  it.  This  faculty  he  regarded  as  a  badge  of  honour. 
As  he  sat  there  and  talked  with  this  frail  little  woman 
his  heart  went  out  to  her  in  a  great  yearning  love.  She 
was  the  mother  of  the  bride  of  his  soul.  He  would  love 
her  forever  for  that.  No  matter  whether  she  loved  him 
or  hated  him,  he  would  love  the  mother  who  gave  to 
his  thirsty  lips  the  water  of  Life. 

Drawn  irresistibly  by  the  magnetism  of  his  mind 
and  manner,  Mrs.  Worth  forgot  the  flight  of  time  and 
thought  but  a  moment  had  passed  when,  an  hour 
after  the  ball  had  opened,  Sallie  came  out  leaning 
on  McLeod's  arm. 

"Mamma,  have  you  been  monopolising  Mr.  Gaston 
for  a  whole  hour?" 

"He  hasn't  been  here  a  half-hour,  Miss!"  cried  her 
mother. 

"  He's  been  here  an  hour  and  ten  minutes.  I'm  going 
to  tell  Papa  on  you  just  as  soon  as  I  get  home." 

"Go  back  to  your  dancing." 

"  No,  thank  you;  I  have  an  engagement  to  take  a  walk 
with  your  beau.  Come,  Mr.  Gaston." 

They  walked  to  the  spring  and  along  the  winding  path 


The  Rhythm  of  the  Dance  255 

by  the  brook  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  found  a  rustic 
seat.  They  were  both  silent  for  several  moments. 

"I  saw  you  were  charming  Mamma,  or  I  would  have 
come  sooner." 

"I  hope  she  likes  me." 

"She  has  been  praising  you  ever  since  your  visit  to 
Independence.  I  never  saw  her  talk  so  long  to  a  young 
man  in  my  life  before.  You  must  have  hypnotised  her." 

"I  hope  so." 

A  strange  happiness  filled  her  heart.  She  was  afraid 
to  look  it  in  the  face,  and  yet  she  dared  to  play  with 
the  thought. 

"Are  you  enjoying  your  triumph  to-night?  I've  had 
war  inside." 

"I  feel  like  I  am  the  Emperor  of  the  World  and  that 
the  Evening  Star  is  smiling  on  my  court !  " 

She  smiled,  tossed  her  head,  leaned  against  the  tree 
and  said: 

"  I  wonder  if  you  are  in  the  habit  of  saying  things  like 
that  to  girls?" 

"Upon  my  soul  and  honour,  no." 

"Then  thanks.     I'll  dream  about  that,  maybe." 

They  returned  to  the  hotel  and  McLeod  claimed  her. 
They  went  back  the  same  walk,  and  by  a  freak  of  fate  he 
chose  the  same  seat  she  had  just  vacated  with  Gaston. 

"Miss  Sallie,  you  are  of  age  now.  You  know  that  I 
have  loved  you  passionately  since  you  were  a  child.  I 
have  made  my  way  in  life ;  I  am  hungry  for  a  home  and 
your  love  to  glorify  it.  Why  will  you  keep  me  waiting  ?  " 

"Simply  because  I  know  now  I  do  not  love  you, 
Allan,  and  I  never  will.  Once  and  forever,  here,  to-night 
I  give  you  my  last  answer — I  will  not  be  your  wife." 

"Then  don't  give  the  answer  to-night — I  can  wait," 
he  interrupted.  "  I  am  just  on  the  threshold  of  a  great 
career.  Success  is  sure.  I  can  offer  you  a  dazzling 


256  The  Leopard's  Spots 

position.  Don't  give  me  such  an  answer.  Leave  the 
old  answer — to  wait." 

"No,  I  will  not.  I  do  not  love  you.  If  you  were  to 
become  the  President,  it  would  not  change  this  fact,  and 
it  is  everything." 

"Then  you  love  another." 

"That  is  none  of  your  business,  sir.  I  have  known 
you  since  childhood.  I  have  had  ample  time  to  know 
my  own  mind." 

"  All  right;  we  will  say  good-by  for  the  present.  You 
have  made  me  a  laughing-stock  of  young  fools,  but  I  can 
stand  it.  I'll  not  give  you  up,  and  if  I  can't  have  you 
no  other  man  shall." 

"If  you  leave  my  will  out  of  the  calculation  you  will 
make  a  fatal  mistake." 

"Women  have  been  known  to  change  their  wills." 

Before  leaving  her  that  night  Gaston  held  her  hand 
for  an  instant  as  he  bade  her  good-by  and  said,  "Miss 
Sallie,  I  thank  you  with  inexpressible  gratitude  for  the 
honour  you  have  done  me." 

"I've  just  been  wondering  what  you  have  done  to 
deserve  it?  " 

"Absolutely  nothing — that's  why  it  is  so  sweet. 
This  has  been  the  happiest  day  I  ever  lived.  I  cannot 
see  you  again  before  you  go.  I  leave  to-morrow  on 
urgent  business.  May  I  come  to  Independence  to  see 
you?" 

"Yes;  I'll  be  delighted  to  see  you.     Good-night." 

Gaston  was  the  last  to  return  to  Hambright.  He 
walked  the  two  miles  through  the  silent  starlit  woods. 
He  took  a  short  cut  his  bare  feet  had  travelled  as  a  boy, 
and  with  uncovered  head  walked  slowly  through  the  dim 
aisles  of  great  trees.  It  was  good,  this  cool  silence  and 
the  soft  mantle  of  the  night  about  his  soul.  The  stars 
whispered  love.  The  wind  sighed  it  through  the  leaves. 


The  Rhythm  of  the  Dance  257 

He  had  withdrawn  from  the  church  in  his  college 
days  because  he  had  grown  to  doubt  everything — 
God,  heaven,  hell  and  immortality.  To-night  as  he 
walked  slowly  home  he  heard  that  wonderful  sentence 
of  the  Old  Bible  ringing  down  the  ages,  wet  with 
tears  and  winged  with  hope: 

"God  is  love." 

He  said  it  now  softly  and  reverently,  and  the  tears 
came  unbidden  from  his  soul.  He  felt  close  to  the  heart 
of  things.  He  knew  he  was  close  to  the  heart  of  nature. 
What  if  nature  was  only  another  name  for  God  ?  And 
he  whispered  it  again: 

"God  is  love." 

"Ah!  If  I  only  knew  it  I  would  bow  down  and 
worship  Him  forever!"  he  cried. 

When  Sallie  reached  her  mother's  room  that  night 
Mrs.  Worth  was  seated  by  her  window. 

"Why  didn't  you  dance?  " 

"Didn't  care  to." 

"Sly  Miss,  you  can't  fool  me.  You  didn't  dance 
because  Mr.  Gaston  couldn't.  That  was  a  dangerously 
loud  way  to  talk  to  him." 

"How  did  you  like  him,  Mamma?" 

"Come  here,  dear,  and  sit  on  the  edge  of  my  chair. 
I  wish  I  knew  when  you  were  in  earnest  about  a  man. 
I  like  him  more  than  I  can  tell  you.  He  talked  to  me 
so  beautifully  about  his  mother  that  I  wanted  to  kiss 
him.  He  is  charming." 

"  Why,  Mamma !  " 

"I'd  like  him  for  a  son.  There's  a  wealth  of  deep 
tenderness  and  manly  power  in  him." 

"Mamma,  you're  getting  giddy!" 

But  she  kissed  her  mother  twice  when  she  said 
good-night. 


CHAPTER  X 
THE  HEART  OF  A  VILLAIN 

cLEOD  had  developed  into  a  man  of  undoubted 
power.  He  was  but  thirty- two  years  old, 
and  the  dictator  of  his  party  in  the  state. 

He  had  the  fighting  temperament  which  Southern 
people  demand  in  their  leaders.  With  this  temperament 
he  combined  the  skill  of  subtle  diplomatic  tact.  He 
had  no  moral  scruples  of  any  kind.  The  problem  of 
expediency  alone  interested  him  in  ethics. 

McLeod's  pet  aversion  was  a  preacher,  especially  a 
Baptist  or  a  Methodist.  His  choicest  oaths  he  reserved 
for  them.  He  made  a  study  of  their  weaknesses,  and 
could  tell  dozens  of  stories  to  their  discredit,  many  of 
them  true.  He  had  an  instinct  for  finding  their  weak 
spots  and  holding  them  up  to  ridicule.  He  bought 
every  book  of  militant  infidelity  he  could  find  and 
memorised  the  bitterest  of  it.  He  took  special  pride 
m  scoffing  at  religion  before  the  young  converts  of 
Durham's  church. 

He  was  endowed  with  a  personal  magnetism  that 
fascinated  the  young  as  the  hiss  of  a  snake  holds  a  bird. 

His  serious  work  was  politics  and  sensualism.  In 
politics  he  was  at  his  best.  Here  he  was  cunning, 
plausible,  careful,  brilliant  and  daring.  He  never 
lost  his  head  in  defeat  or  victory.  He  never  forgot  a 
friend  nor  forgave  an  enemy.  Of  his  foe  he  asked  no 
quarter  and  gave  none. 

His    ambitions   were   purely    selfish.     He   meant    to 

258 


The  Heart  of  a  Villain  259 

climb  to  the  top.  As  to  the  means,  the  end  would 
justify  them.  He  preferred  to  associate  with  white 
people,  but  when  it  was  necessary  to  win  a  Negro  he 
never  hesitated  to  go  any  length.  The  center  of  the 
universe  to  his  mind  was  A.  McLeod. 

He  was  fond  of  saying  to  a  crowd  of  youngsters  whom 
he  taught  to  play  poker  and  drink  whisky: 

"  Boys,  I  know  the  world.  The  great  man  is  the  man 
who  gets  there." 

He  was  generous  with  his  money,  and  the  boys  called 
him  a  jolly  good  fellow.  He  used  to  say  in  explanation 
of  this  careless  habit: 

"It  won't  do  for  an  ordinary  fool  to  throw  away 
money  as  I  do.  I  play  for  big  stakes.  I'm  not  a  spend 
thrift.  I'm  simply  sowing  seed.  I  can  wait  for  the 
harvest." 

And  when  they  would  admire  this  overmuch  he 
would  warn  them: 

"As  a  rule,  my  advice  is,  Get  money.  Get  it  fairly 
and  squarely  if  you  can,  but  whatever  you  do — get  it. 
When  you  come  right  down  to  it,  money's  your  first, 
last,  best  and  only  friend.  Others  promise  well,  but 
when  the  scratch  comes  they  fail.  Money  never  fails." 

A  boy  of  fifteen  asked  him  one  day  when  he  was 
mellow  with  liquor: 

"McLeod,  which  would  you  rather  be,  President  of 
the  United  States  or  a  big  millionaire?" 

"Boys,"  he  replied,  smacking  his  lips  and  running 
his  tongue  around  his  cheeks  inside  and  softly  caressing 
them  with  one  hand,  while  he  half  closed  his  eyes, 
"they  say  old  Simon  Legree  is  worth  fifty  millions  of 
dollars  and  that  his  actual  income  is  twenty  per  cent,  on 
that.  They  say  he  stole  most  of  it,  and  that  every  dollar 
represents  a  broken  life,  and  every  cent  of  it  could  be 
painted  red  with  the  blood  of  his  victims.  Even  so,  I 


260  The  Leopard's  Spots 

would  rather  be  in  Legree's  shoes  and  have  those  millions 
a  year  than  to  be  Almighty  God  with  hosts  of  angels 
singing  psalms  to  me  through  all  eternity." 

And  the  shallow-pated  satellites  cheered  this  blas 
phemy  with  open-eyed  wonder. 

The  weakest  side  of  his  nature  was  that  turned  toward 
women.  He  was  vain  as  a  peacock,  and  the  darling 
wish  of  his  soul  was  to  be  a  successful  libertine.  This 
was  the  secret  of  the  cruelty  back  of  his  desire  of 
boundless  wealth. 

He  had  the  intellectual  forehead  of  his  Scotch  father, 
large,  handsomely  modelled  features,  nostrils  that 
dilated  and  contracted  widely,  and  the  thick  sensous 
lips  of  his  mother.  His  eyebrows  were  straight,  thick, 
and  suggested  undoubted  force -of  intellect.  His  hair 
was  a  deep  red,  thick  and  coarse,  but  his  mustache  was 
finer,  and  it  was  his  special  pride  to  point  its  delicately 
curved  tips. 

His  vanity  was  being  stimulated  just  now  by  two 
opposite  forces.  He  was  in  Icve,  as  deeply  as  such  a 
nature  could  love,  with  Sallie  Worth.  Her  continued 
rejection  of  his  suit  had  wounded  his  vanity,  but  had 
roused  all  the  pugnacity  of  his  nature  to  strengthen 
this  apparent  weakness. 

%He  had  discovered  recently  that  he  exercised  a  potent 
influence  over  Mrs.  Durham.  The  moment  he  was 
repulsed  his  vanity  turned  for  renewed  strength  toward 
her.  He  saw  instantly  the  immense  power  even  the 
slighest  indiscretion  on  her  part  would  give  him  over  the 
Preacher's  life.  He  knew  that  while  he  was  not 
a  demonstrative  man,  he  loved  his  wife  with  intense 
devotion.  He  knew,  too,  that  here  was  the  Preacher's 
weakest  spot.  In  his  tireless  devotion  to  his  work  he 
had  starved  his  wife's  heart.  He  had  noticed  that  she 
always  called  him  "Doctor  Durham"  now,  and  that 


The  Heart  of  a  Villain  261 

he  had  gradually  fallen  into  the  habit  of  calling  her 
"Mrs.  Durham." 

This  had  been  fixed  in  their  habits,  perhaps,  by  the 
change  from  housekeeping  to  living  at  the  hotel.  Since 
old  Aunt  Mary's  death,  Mrs.  Durham  had  given  up  her 
struggle  with  the  modern  Negro  servants,  closed  her 
house,  and  they  had  boarded  for  several  years. 

He  saw  that  if  he  could  entangle  her  name  with  his 
in  the  dirty  gossip  of  village  society  he  could  strike 
his  enemy  a  mortal  blow.  He  knew  that  she  had  grown 
more  and  more  jealous  of  the  crowds  of  silly  women 
that  always  dog  the  heels  of  a  powerful  minister  with 
flattery  and  open  admiration.  He  determined  to  make 
the  experiment. 

Mrs.  Durham,  while  nine  years  his  senior,  did  not  look 
a  day  over  thirty.  Her  face  was  as  smooth  and  soft  and 
round  as  a  girl's,  her  figure  as  straight  and  full,  and  her 
every  movement  instinct  with  stored  vital  powers  that 
had  never  been  drawn  upon. 

She  was  in  a  dangerous  period  of  her  mental  develop 
ment.  She  had  been  bitterly  disappointed  in  life.  Her 
loss  of  slaves  and  the  ancestral  prestige  of  great  wealth 
had  sent  the  steel  shaft  of  a  poisoned  dagger  into  her 
soul.  She  was  unreconciled  to  it.  While  she  was  pass 
ing  through  the  anarchy  of  Legree's  regime  which 
followed  the  war,  her  unsatisfied  maternal  instincts 
absorbed  her  in  the  work  of  relieving  the  poor  and  the 
broken.  But  when  the  white  race  rose  in  its  might  and 
shook  off  this  nightmare  and  order  and  a  measure  of 
prosperity  had  come,  she  had  fallen  back  into  brooding 
pessimism. 

She  had  reached  the  hour  of  that  soul  crisis  when  she 
felt  life  would  almost  in  a  moment  slip  from  her  grasp, 
and  she  asked  herself  the  question,  "Have  I  lived?" 
And  she  could  not  answer. 


262  The  Leopard's  Spots 

She  found  herself  asking  the  reasons  for  things  long 
accepted  as  fixed  and  eternal.  What  was  good,  right, 
truth?  And  what  made  it  good,  right,  or  true? 

And  she  beat  the  wings  of  her  proud  woman's  heart 
against  the  bars  that  held  her,  until  tired  and  bleeding, 
she  was  exhausted  but  unconquered. 

She  was  furious  with  McLeod  for  his  open  association 
with  Negro  politicians. 

"Allan,  in  my  soul,  I  am  ashamed  for  you  when  I  see 
you  thus  degrade  your  manhood." 

"Nonsense,  Mrs.  Durham,"  he  replied;  "the  most  beau 
tiful  flower  grows  in  dirt,  but  the  flower  is  not  dirt." 

"Well,  I  knew  you  were  vain,  but  that  caps  the 
climax !  " 

"  Isn't  my  figure  true,  whether  you  say  I'm  dog-fennel 
or  a  pink?  " 

"No;  you  are  not  a  flower.  Will  is  the  soul  of  man. 
The  flower  is  ruled  by  laws  outside  itself.  A  man's  will 
is  creative.  You  can  make  law.  You  can  walk  with 
your  head  among  the  stars,  and  you  choose  to  crawl  in 
a  ditch.  I  am  out  of  patience  with  you." 

"  But  only  for  a  purpose.  You  must  judge  by  the  end 
in  view." 

'.'There's  no  need  to  stoop  so  low." 

' '  I  assure  you  it  is  absolutely  necessary  to  my  aims 
in  life.  And  they  are  high  enough.  I  appreciate  your 
interest  in  me  more  than  I  dare  to  tell  you.  You  have 
always  been  kind  to  me  since  I  was  a  wild  red 
headed  brute  of  a  boy.  And  you  have  always  been  my 
supreme  inspiration  in  work.  While  others  have 
cursed  and  scoffed,  you  smiled  at  me,  and  your  smile 
has  warmed  my  heart  in  its  blackest  nights." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  motherlike  tenderness. 

"What  ends  could  be  high  enough  to  justify  such 
methods?  " 


The  Heart  of  a  Villain  263 

"  I  hate  poverty  and  squalor.  It's  been  my  fate,  I've 
sworn  to  climb  out  of  it,  if  I  have  to  fight  or  buy  my 
way  through  hell  to  do  it.  I  dream  of  a  palatial  home, 
of  soft  white  beds,  grand  banquet  halls,  and  music  and 
wine,  and  the  faces  of  those  I  love  near  me.  Besides, 
the  work  I  am  doing  is  the  best  for  the  state  and 
the  nation." 

"But  how  can  you  walk  arm  in  arm  with  a  big  black 
Negro,  as  they  say  you  do,  to  get  his  vote?  " 

"Simply  because  they  represent  120,000  votes  I  need. 
You  can't  tell  their  colour  when  they  get  into  the  box. 
I  use  these  fools  as  so  many  worms.  My  political 
creed  is  for  public  consumption  only.  I  never  allow 
anybody  to  impose  on  me.  I  don't  allow  even  Allan 
McLeod  to  deceive  me  with  a  paper  platform  or  a  lot  of 
articulated  wind.  I'm  not  a  preacher." 

She  winced,  blushed  and  looked  at  him  curiously  for  a 
moment. 

"No,  you  are  not  a  preacher.  I  wish  you  were  a 
better  man." 

"So  do  I,  when  I  am  with  you,"  he  answered  in  a  low, 
serious  voice. 

"But  I  can't  get  over  the  sense  of  personal  degrada 
tion  involved  in  your  association  with  Negroes  as  your 
equal,"  she  persisted. 

"The  trouble  is  you're  an  unreconstructed  rebel. 
Women  never  really  forgive  a  social  wrong." 

"I  am  unreconstructed  !  "  she  snapped,  with  pride. 

"And  you  thank  God  daily  for  it,  don't  you?  " 

"Yes,  I  do.  Human  nature  can't  be  reconstructed 
by  the  fiat  of  fools  who  tinker  with  laws,"  she  cried. 

"These  thousands  of  black  votes  are  here.  They've 
got  to  be  controlled.  I'm  doing  the  job." 

"You  don't  try  to  get  rid  of  them." 

"Get  rid  of  them?     Ye  gods,  that  would  be  a  task! 


264  The  Leopard's  Spots 

The  Negro  is  the  sentimental  pet  of  the  nation.  Put 
him  on  a  continent  alone  and  he  will  sink  like  an  iron 
wedge  to  the  bottomless  pit  of  barbarism.  But  he  is  the 
ward  of  the  Republic — our  only  orphan,  chronic,  in 
capable.  That  wardship  is  a  grip  of  steel  on  the  throat 
of  the  South.  Back  of  it  is  an  ocean  of  maudlin  senti 
mental  fools.  I  am  simply  making  the  most  of  the 
situation.  I  didn't  make  it  to  order.  I'm  just  doing 
the  best  I  can  with  the  material  in  hand." 

"Why  don't  you  come  out  like  a  man  and  defy  this 
horde  of  fools?  " 

"Martyrdom  has  become  too  cheap.  The  preachers 
have  a  hundred  thousand  missionaries  now  we  are 
trying  to  support." 

"Allan,  I  thought  you  held  below  the  rough  surface 
of  your  nature  high  ideals — you  don't  mean  this." 

"What  could  one  man  do  against  these  millions?" 

"Do!"  she  cried,  her  face  ablaze.  "The  history  of 
the  world  is  made  up  of  the  individuality  of  a  few  men. 
A  little  Yankee  woman  wrote  a  book.  The  single  act  of 
that  woman's  will  caused  the  war,  killed  a  million  men, 
desolated  and  ruined  the  South,  and  changed  the 
history  of  the  world.  The  single  dauntless  personality 
of  Washington  three  times  saved  the  colonies  from  sur 
render  and  created  the  Republic.  I  am  surprised  to 
hear  a  man  of  your  brain  and  reading  talk  like  that !  " 

"When  I  am  with  you  and  hear  your  voice  I  have 
heroic  impulses.  You  are  the  only  human  being  with 
whom  I  would  take  the  time  to  discuss  this  question. 
But  the  current  is  too  strong.  The  other  way  is  easier, 
and  it  serves  my  ends  better.  Besides,  I  am  not  sure 
it  isn't  better  from  every  point  of  view.  We've  got  the 
Negro  here,  and  must  educate  him." 

"Hush!  Tell  that  to  somebody  that  hates  you,  not 
to  me !"  she  cried. 


The  Heart  of  a  Villain  265 

"Don't  you  think  we  must  educate  them?" 

"No;  I  think  it  is  a  crime." 

"Would  you  leave  them  in  ignorance,  a  threat  to 
society?  " 

"Yes,  until  they  can  be  moved.  When  I  see  these 
young  Negro  men  and  women  coming  out  of  their  schools 
and  colleges,  well  dressed,  with  their  shallow  veneer  of 
an  imitation  culture,  I  feel  like  crying  over  the  farce."  , 

"Surely,  Mrs.  Durham,  you  believe  they  are  better- 
fitted  for  life?" 

4 '  They  are  not.  They  are  lifted  out  of  their  only  possi 
ble  sphere  of  their  menial  service,  and  denied  any  career. 
It  is  simply  inhuman.  They  are  led  to  certain  slaughter 
of  soul  and  body  at  last.  It  is  a  horrible  tragedy." 

Allan  looked  at  her,  smiled,  and  replied:  "I  knew  you 
were  a  bitter  and  brilliant  woman  but  I  didn't  think  you 
would  go  to  such  lengths  even  with  your  pet  aversions." 

' '  It's  not  an  aversion,  or  a  prejudice,  sir.  It's  a  simple 
fact  of  history.  Education  increases  the  power  of  the 
human  brain  to  think  and  the  heart  to  suffer.  Sooner  or 
later  these  educated  Negroes  feel  the  clutch  of  the  iron 
hand  of  the  white  man's  unwritten  laws  on  their  throats. 
They  have  their  choice  between  a  suicide's  grave  or 
a  prison  cell.  And  the  numbers  who  dare  the  grave 
and  the  prison  cell  daily  increase.  The  South  is 
kinder  to  the  Negro  when  he  is  kept  in  his  place." 

"You  are  a  quarter  of  a  century  behind  the  times." 

"Am  I  so  old?"  she  laughed. 

4 'The  sentiment,  not  the  woman.  You  are  the  most 
beautiful  woman  I  ever  saw." 

"  I  like  my  boys  to  feel  that  way  about  me." 

44 You  don't  class  me  quite  with  the  rest,  do  you?" 

She  blushed  the  slightest  bit.  '  4No ;  I've  always  taken 
a  peculiar  interest  in  you.  I  have  quarrelled  with  every 
body  who  has  hated  and  spoken  evil  of  you.  I  have 


266  The  Leopard's  Spots 

always  believed  you  were  capable  of  a  high  and  noble 
life  of  great  achievement." 

"And  your  faith  in  me  has  been  my  highest  incentive 
to  give  the  lie  to  my  enemies  and  succeed.  And  I  will. 
I  will  be  the  master  of  this  state  within  two  years.  And 
I  want  you  to  remember  that  I  lay  it  all  at  your  feet. 
The  world  need  not  know  it — you  know  it."  He  spoke 
with  intense  earnestness. 

"But  I  don't  want  you  to  make  such  a  success  at  the 
price  of  Negro  equality.  I  feel  a  sense  of  unspeakable 
degradation  for  you  when  I  hear  your  name  hissed.  At 
least  I  was  your  teacher  once.  Come,  Allan,  give  up 
Negro  politics  and  devote  yourself  to  an  honourable 
career  in  law." 

He  shook  his  head  with  calm  persistence. 

"No,  this  is  my  calling." 

''Then  take  a  nobler  one." 

"To  succeed  grandly  is  the  only  title  to  nobility  here." 

"Is  the  Doctor  on  speaking  terms  with  you  now?" 

"Yes.  I  joke  him  about  his  hide-bound  Bourbonism, 
and  he  tells  me  I  am  all  sorts  of  a  villain.  But  we 
have  made  an  agreement  to  hate  one  another  in  a 
polite  sort  of  way  as  becomes  a  teacher  in  Israel  and  a 
statesman  with  responsibilities.  By  the  way,  I  saw 
him  driving  to  the  Springs  with  a  bevy  of  pretty  girls 
a  few  hours  ago." 

"  Indeed  ?    I  didn't  know  it ! " 

"Yes.  He  seemed  to  be  having  a  royal  time  and  to 
have  renewed  his  youth." 

An  angry  flush  came  to  her  face  and  she  made  no 
reply  McLeod  glanced  at  her  furtively  and  smiled 
at  this  evidence  that  this  shot  had  gone  home. 

"Would  you  drive  with  me  to  the  Springs?  We  will 
?fit  there  before  this  party  starts  back."  She  hesitated. 
.*nd  answered  "Yes." 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  OLD,  OLD  STORY 

WHEN  Gaston  arrived  in  Independence  he  went 
direct  to  St.  Clare's. 
"Well,  where  the  Dickens  have  you  been, 
Gaston?" 

"Jumping  from  Murphy  to  Manteo,  making  love  to 
hayseed  statesmen." 

''What  luck?" 

"They're  all  crazy.  They  swear  they  are  going  to 
have  the  United  States  establish  a  Sub-Treasury  in 
Raleigh  and  issue  Government  script  they  can  use  as 
money  on  their  pumpkins,  or  they  are  going  to  tear  the 
nation  to  tatters  and  vote  for  a  nigger  for  Governor 
if  necessary." 

"Can't  you  get  into  their  fool  heads  that  an  alliance 
with  the  Republican  party  is  the  last  way  on  earth  for 
them  to  go  about  their  Sub-Treasury  schemes?" 

"Can't  seem  to  do  a  thing  with  them.  McLeod's 
stuffed  them  full.  I'm  sick  of  it.  I've  a  notion  to  let 
them  go  with  the  niggers  and  go  to  the  devil.  It's 
growing  on  me  that  there  must  be  another  way  out. 
I  can't  get  down  in  the  dirt  and  prostitute  my  intellect 
and  lie  to  these  fools.  We've  got  to  get  rid  of  the 
Negro." 

"A  large  job,  old  man." 

"Yes,  it  is,  and  thank  God  I'm  done  with  it  for  a 
week.  I'm  going  to  heaven  now  for  a  few  days.  I'll 
see  her  in  an  hour.  I  rise  on  tireless  wings  ! " 

267 


268  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"Look  out  you  don't  come  down  too  suddenly.  The 
earth  may  feel  hard." 

"Bob,  I'm  going  to  risk  it.  I'm  going  to  look  fate 
squarely  in  the  face  and  get  my  answer  like  a  little 
man,  for  life  or  death." 

Mrs.  Worth  met  Gaston  and  greeted  him  with  th* 
warmest  cordiality. 

"We  are  charmed  to  welcome  you  to  Oakwood  again, 
Mr.  Gaston." 

"I  assure  you,  Mrs.  Worth,  I  never  saw  a  home  so- 
beautiful.  I  feel  as  though  I  am  in  paradise  when  I 
get  here." 

"I  hope  to  see  more  of  you  this  time;  I  feel  that  I 
know  you  so  much  better  since  our  talk  at  the  Springs." 

"Thank  you,  Mrs.  Worth."  He  said  this  so  simply 
and  earnestly  she  could  but  feel  his  deep  appreciation 
of  her  attitude  of  welcome. 

"Sallie  will  be  down  in  a  minute." 

Gaston  smiled  in  spite  of  himself. 

"What  are  you  laughing  at?" 

"I  was  just  thinking  how  sweetly  her  name  sounded 
on  your  lips." 

"Do  you  like  these  old-fashioned  Southern  names?" 

"I  think  they  are  lovely." 

"Well,  that's  my  name,  too." 

Sallie  suddenly  stepped  from  the  hall  into  the 
doorway. 

"Now,  Mamma,  there  you  are  again  carrying  on 
with  one  of  my  beaux!  I  don't  know  what  J  will  do 
with  you!" 

Mrs.  Worth  actually  blushed,  sprang  up  and  struck 
Sallie  lightly  on  the  arm  with  her  fan,  exclaiming: 
"You  sly  thing,  to  stand  out  there  and  listen  to  what  I 
said!  Mr.  Gaston,  I  turn  her  over  to  you  to  punish 
her  for  such  conduct." 


The  Old,  Old  Story  269 

"Isn't  she  a  dear?"  said  Sallie,  when  her  mother 
was  gone. 

"I  was  charmed  with  her  at  the  Springs,  but  the 
gracious  way  she  made  me  feel  at  home  this  morning 
completely  won  my  heart." 

"I  can  do  anything  with  Mamma.  She's  the  dearest 
mother  that  ever  lived.  She  always  seems  to  know 
intuitively  my  heart's  wish,  and,  if  it's  best,  give  it  to 
me;  and  if  it's  not,  she  makes  me  cease  to  desire  it.  I 
wish  I  cculd  manage  Papa  as  easily." 

"I'm  sure  he  idolises  you,  Miss  Sallie." 

"He  does;  but  when  he  lays  the  law  down,  that 
settles  it.  I  can't  move  him  one  inch." 

"That's  the  way  with  forceful  men,  who  do  things 
in  the  world." 

"Well,  I  confess  I  like  to  have  my  own  way  some 
times.  I  wonder  if  you  are  like  that?" 

"I'll  be  frank  with  you.  Somehow  I  never  could  be 
anything  else  if  I  tried.  I  don't  think  a  man  of  strong 
character  will  yield  to  every  whim  of  a  woman,  whether 
wife  or  daughter." 

"I  heard  of  a  man  the  other  day  who  whipped  his 
wife,"  she  said  in  a  far-away  tone  of  voice.  "Come,  my 
horse  is  ready;  go  with  me  for  another  ride  to-day.  I 
am  going  to  take  you  across  the  river  and  show  you  a 
pretty  drive  over  there." 

They  were  soon  lost  in  the  deep  shadows  of  the 
stately  pine  forest  that  lay  beyond  the  Catawba.  The 
road  was  a  cross-country,  narrow  way  that  wound  in 
and  out  around  the  big  trees. 

They  jogged  slowly  along  while  he  bathed  his  soul  in 
the  joy  of  her  presence.  Oh,  to  be  alone  and  near  her ! 
There  seemed  to  him  a  magic  power  in  the  touch  of  her 
dress  as  she  sat  in  the  little  buggy  so  close  by  his 
side.  For  hours  again  he  lay  at  her  feet  and 


270  The  Leopard's  Spots 

the  wine  of  her  beauty  until  his  heart  was  drunk 
with  love. 

Once  he  opened  his  lips  to  tell  her,  and  a  great  fear 
awed  him  into  silence.  He  longed  to  pour  out  to  her  his 
passion,  but  feared  her  answer.  He  had  studied  her 
every  word  and  tone  and  look  and  hand-pressure  since 
he  had  known  her.  He  was  srre  she  loved  him.  And 
yet  he  was  not  sure.  She  was  so  skilled  in  the  science 
of  self-defense,  so  subtle  a  mistress  of  all  the  arts  of 
polite  society  in  which  the  soul's  deepest  secrets  are  hid 
from  the  world,  he  was  paralysed  now  as  the  moment 
drew  near.  He  put  it  off  another  day  and  gave  himself 
up  to  the  pure  delight  of  her  face  and  form  and  voice 
and  presence. 

That  evening  when  she  entered  the  home  her  mother 
caught  her  hand  and  softly  whispered,  "Did  he  court 
you  to-day,  Sallie?" 

She  shook  her  head  smilingly.  "No,  but  I  think  he 
will  to-morrow." 

St.  Clare  was  sitting  on  his  veranda  awaiting 
Gaston's  return. 

"What  luck,  old  boy?"  he  eagerly  asked. 

"Couldn't  say  a  word.     I'll  do  it  to-morrow  or  die." 

"Shake  hands,  partner.     I've  been  there." 

"Bob,  it's  a  serious  thing  to  run  up  against  a  little 
answer  'yes'  or  'no,'  that  means  life  or  death." 

"Feel  like  you'd  rather  live  on  hope  awhile,  and  let 
things  drift,  don't  you?" 

"  Exactly.  I  think  I  can  understand  for  the  first  time 
in  my  life  that  awful  look  in  a  prisoner's  face  on  trial 
for  his  life  when  he  watches  the  lips  of  the  foreman  of 
the  jury  to  catch  the  first  letter  of  the  verdict.  I  used 
to  think  that  an  interesting  psychological  study.  By 
George,  I  feel  I  am  his  brother  now." 

The  next  day  was  perfect.     The  warm  life-giving  sun 


The  Old,  Old  Story  271 

of  June  was  tempered  by  breezes  that  swept  fresh  and 
invigorating  over  the  earth  that  had  been  drenched 
with  showers  in  the  night.  The  woods  were  ringing 
with  the  chorus  of  feathered  throats  chanting  the  old 
oratorio  of  life  and  love.  Again  Gaston  and  Sallie 
were  jogging  along  the  shady  river  road  they  had 
travelled  on  the  first  day  she  had  taken  him  driving. 

"Do  you  remember  this  road?"  she  asked. 

"I'll  never  forget  it.  Along  this  road  we  hurried 
in  the  twilight  to  face  your  angry  mother,  and  just 
one  kiss  smoothed  her  brow  into  a  welcoming  smile 
for  me." 

"Well,  I'm  going  to  risk  greater  trouble  to-day,  and 
take  you  a  mile  or  two  farther  up  the  river  to  the  old 
mill-site  at  the  rapids.  It's  the  most  beautiful  and 
romantic  spot  in  the  country.  The  river  spreads  out  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  in  width,  and  goes  plunging  and 
dashing  down  the  rapids  through  thousands  of  pro 
jecting  rocks,  a  mass  of  white  foam  as  far  as  you  can  see. 
It's  full  of  tiny  green  islands  with  ferns  and  rhododendron 
and  wild  grapevines,  and  their  perfume  sweetens  the 
air  for  miles  along  the  water.  These  little  islands, 
some  ten  feet  square,  some  an  acre,  are  full  of  mocking 
birds  nesting  there,  though  since  the  mills  were  burned 
during  the  war  nobody  has  lived  near.  The  songs  of 
these  birds  seem  tuned  to  the  music  of  the  river." 

"It  must  be  a  glimpse  of  fairyland!"  he  exclaimed. 

"  I  know  you  will  be  thrilled  with  its  romantic  beauty. 
It's  five  miles  from  a  house  in  any  direction." 

Gaston  was  silent.  He  made  a  resolution  in  his 
soul  that  he  would  never  leave  that  spot  until  he  knew 
his  fate.  His  heart  began  to  thump  now  like  a  sledge 
hammer.  He  looked  down  furtively  at  her  and  tried 
to  imagine  how  she  would  look  and  what  she  would 
say  when  he  should  startle  her  first  with  some  words  of 


272  The  Leopard's  Spots 

tender  endearment  or  the  sound  of  her  name  he  had 
said  over  and  over  a  thousand  times  in  his  heart,  and 
aloud  when  alone,  but  never  dared  to  use  without 
its  prefix. 

She  saw  his  abstraction  and  divined  intuitively  the 
current  of  emotions  with  which  he  was  struggling,  but 
pretended  not  to  notice  it.  He  tied  the  horse  at  the 
old  mill,  and  they  walked  slowly  down  the  bank  of 
the  river. 

"That  is  my  island,"  she  cried,  pointing  out  into  the 
river;  "that  third  one  in  the  group  running  out  from 
the  point.  We  can  step  from  one  rock  to  another  to  it." 

It  was  indeed  an  entrancing  spot.  The  island  seemed 
all  alone  in  the  middle  of  the  river  when  one  was  on  it. 
It  was  not  more  than  fifty  feet  wide  and  a  hundred  feet 
long,  its  length  lying  with  the  swift  current.  At  the 
lower  end  of  it  a  fine  ash  tree  spread  its  dense  shade, 
hanging  far  over  the  still  waters  that  stood  in  smooth 
eddy  at  its  roots.  On  the  upper  side  of  this  tree  lay 
a  big  boulder,  resting  against  its  trunk  and  embedded 
in  a  mass  of  clean  white  sand  the  water  had  filtered  and 
washed  and  thrown  there  on  some  spring  flood. 

She  climbed  on  this  rock,  sat  down,  and  leaned  her 
bare  head  against  its  trunk. 

"This  is  my  throne!  "  she  laughingly  cried. 

He  leaned  against  the  rock  and  looked  up  at  her  with 
eyes  through  which  the  yearning,  the  hunger,  the  joy, 
and  the  fear  of  all  life  were  quivering.  What  a  picture 
she  made  under  the  dark,  cool  shadows  !  Her  dress  was 
again  of  spotless  white  that  seemed  now  to  have  been 
woven  out  of  the  foam  of  the  river.  Her  throat  was 
bare,  her  cheeks  flushed,  and  her  wavy  hair  the  wind 
had  blown  loose  into  a  hundred  stray  ringlets  about  her 
face  and  neck.  Her  lips  were  trembling  with  a  smile  at 
his  speechless  admiration. 


The  Old,  Old  Story  273 

4 'You  seem  to  have  been  struck  dumb,"  she  said. 
4 'Isn't  this  glorious?" 

"  Beyond  words,  Miss  Sallie.  I  didn't  know  there  was 
such  a  spot  on  the  earth." 

"This  is  my  favourite  perch.  Art  and  wealth  could 
never  make  anything  like  this !  I  could  come  here  and 
sit  and  dream  all  day  alone  if  Mamma  would  let  me." 

He  tried  to  begin  the  story  of  love,  but  every  time 
his  tongue  refused  to  move.  He  was  trembling  with 
nervous  hesitation  and  began  to  dig  a  hole  in  the  sand 
with  his  heel. 

' '  What  is  the  matter  with  you  to-day  ?  I  never  saw 
you  so  serious  and  moody." 

Just  then  a  female  mocking-bird  in  her  modest  dove- 
coloured  dress  lit  on  a  swaying  limb  whose  tips  touched 
the  still  water  of  the  eddy  at  their  feet,  and  her  proud 
mate,  with  head  erect,  far  up  on  the  topmost  twig  of  the 
ash,  struck  softly  the  first  note  of  his  immortal  love 
poem,  the  dropping  song. 

"Listen!  He's  going  to  sing  his  dropping  song!"  he 
cried  in  a  whisper. 

And  they  listened.  He  sang  his  first  stanza  in  a  low, 
dreamy  voice,  and  then  as  the  sweetness  of  his  love 
and  the  glory  of  his  triumph  grew  on  his  bird  soul  he 
lifted  his  clear  notes  higher  and  higher  until  the  woods 
on  the  banks  of  the  river  rang  with  its  melody. 

His  mate  turned  her  eyes  upward  and  quietly  twittered, 
a  sweet  little  answer. 

His  response  rang  like  a  silver  trumpet  far  up  in  the 
sky.  He  sprang  ten  feet  into  the  air  and  slowly  dropped, 
singing,  singing  his  long  trilling  notes  of  melting 
sweetness.  He  stopped  on  the  topmost  twig,  sat  a 
moment,  never  ceasing  his  matchless  song,  and  then 
began  to  fall  downward  from  limb  to  limb  toward  his 
mate,  pouring  out  his  soul  in  mad  abandonment  of  joy, 


274  The  Leopard's  Spots 

but  growing  softer,  sweeter,  more  tender  as  he  drew 
nearer.  They  could  see  her  tremble  now  with  pride 
and  love  at  his  approach,  as  she  glanced  timidly  upward 
and  answered  him  with  maiden  modesty.  At  last, 
when  he  reached  her  side,  his  song  was  so  low  and  sweet 
and  dreamlike  it  could  scarcely  be  heard.  He  touched 
the  tip  of  her  beak  with  a  bird  kiss,  they  chirped,  and 
flew  away  to  the  woods  together. 

Gaston  determined  to  speak  or  die.  His  eyes  were 
wet  with  unshed  tears,  and  he  was  trembling  from  head 
to  foot.  He  had  meant  to  pour  out  his  love  for  her  like 
that  bird  in  words  of  passionate  beauty,  but  all  he  could 
do  was  to  say  with  stammering  voice,  low  and  tense 
with  emotion, 

"Miss  Sallie,  I  love  you!" 

He  had  meant  to  say  "Sallie,"  but  at  the  last  gasp  of 
breath,  as  he  spoke,  his  courage  had  failed.  He  did  not 
look  up  at  first.  And  when  she  was  silent,  he  timidly 
looked  up,  fearing  to  hear  the  answer  or  read  it  in  her 
face.  She  smiled  at  him  and  broke  into  a  low  peal  of 
joyous  laughter.  And  there  was  a  note  of  joy  in  her 
laughter  that  was  contagious. 

"Please  don't  laugh  at  me,"  he  stammered,  although 
smiling  himself. 

She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  laughed  again. 
She  looked  at  him  with  her  great  blue  eyes,  wide  open, 
dancing  with  fun  and  wet  with  tears. 

"Do  you  know,  it's  the  funniest  thing  in  the  world; 
you  are  the  sixth  man  who  has  made  love  to  me  on 
this  rock  within  a  year!"  Again  she  laughed  in  his 
face. 

"Look  here,  Miss  Sallie,  this  is  cruel!  " 

"Dear  old  rock!  It's  enchanted.  It  never  fails !" 
She  laughed  softly  again,  and  patted  the  rock  with  her 
hand. 


The  Old,  Old  Story  275 

"Surely  you  have  tortured  me  long  enough.  Have 
some  pity !  " 

"It  is  a  pitiable  sight  to  see  a  big,  eloquent  man 
stammer  and  do  silly  things,  isn't  it?" 

"Please  give  me  your  answer,"  he  cried, still  trembling. 

"Oh,  it's  not  so  serious  as  all  that!"  she  said,  with 
dancing  eyes. 

"I'm  in  the  dust  at  your  feet." 

"You  mean  in  the  sand.  Did  you  know  that  you  dug 
a  hole  in  that  sand  deep  enough  to  bury  me  in?  I 
thought  once  you  were  meditating  murder  by  the 
expression  on  your  face." 

"Please  give  me  one  earnest  look  from  your  eyes," 
he  pleaded. 

"You're  a  terrible  disappointment,"  she  answered, 
leaning  back  and  putting  her  hands  behind  her  head 
thoughtfully. 

His  heart  stood  still  at  this  unexpected  speech. 

"How?"  he  slowly  asked,  looking  down  at  the  sand 
again. 

"Because,"  she  said,  in  her  old  tantalising  tone,  "I 
expected  so  much  of  you." 

"Then  you  don't  class  me  with  the  other  poor  devils, 
at  least?"  lie  asked,  hopefully. 

"No,  no;  they  were  handsome  boys  and  made  me 
beautiful  speeches.  But  you  are  distinguished.  You 
are  a  man  that  everybody  would  look  at  twice  in  a  crowd. 
You  are  a  famous  young  orator  who  can  hold  thousands 
breathless  with  eloquence.  I  thought  you  would  make 
me  the  most  beautiful  speech.  But  you  acted  like  a 
schoolboy,  stammered,  looked  foolish,  and  pawed  a  hole 
in  the  groand!"  Again  she  laughed. 

"I  confess,  Miss  Sallie,  I  was  never  so  overwhelmed 
with  terror  and  nervousness  by  an  audience  before." 

"And  just  one  girl  to  hear?" 


276  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"Yes,  but  she  counts  more  with  me  than  all  the  other 
millions,  and  one  kind  look  from  her  eyes  I  would  hold 
dearer  at  this,  moment  than  a  conquered  world's 
applause." 

"  That's  fine !  That's  something  like  it !  Say  more  ! " 
she  cried. 

His  face  clouded  and  he  looked  earnestly  at  her. 

"Come,  come,  Miss  Sallie,  this  is  too  cruel.  I  have 
torn  my  heart's  deepest  secrets  open  to  you,  and  trem 
blingly  laid  my  life  at  your  feet,  and  you  are  laughing  at 
me.  I  have  paid  you  the  highest  homage  one  human 
soul  can  offer  another.  Surely  I  deserve  better  than, 
this?" 

"There,  you  do.  Forgive  me.  I  have  seen  so  much 
shallow  love-making  I  am  never  quite  sure  a  boy's  in 
dead  earnest."  She  spoke  now  with  seriousness. 

."You  cannot  doubt  my  earnestness.  I  have  spoken 
to  you  this  morning  the  first  words  of  love  that  ever 
passed  my  lips.  One  chamber  of  my  soul  has  always 
been  sacred.  It  was  the  throne-room  of  Love,  reserved 
for  the  One  Woman  waiting  for  me  somewhere  whom 
I  should  find.  I  would  not  allow  an  angel  to  enter  it,, 
and  I  hid  it  from  the  face  of  God.  I  have  opened  it  this 
morning.  It  is  yours." 

She  softly  slipped  her  hand  in  his  and  tremblingly 
said,  while  a  tear  stole  down  her  cheek: 

"I  do  love  you!" 

He  bent  over  her  hand  and  kissed  it,  and  kissed  it, 
while  his  frame  shook  with  uncontrollable  emotion. 
Then,  looking  up  through  his  dimmed  eyes,  he  said, 
"My  darling,  that  was  the  sweetest  music,  that 
sentence,  that  I  shall  ever  hear  in  this  world  or  in  all 
the  worlds  beyond  it  in  eternity." 

"When  did  you  first  begin  to  love  me?"  she  asked., 

"I  don't  know.     But  I  loved  you  the  first  moment 


The  Old,  Old  Story  277 

you  looked  into  my  face  while  I  was  speaking  that  day. 
And  I  recognised  you  instantly  as  the  Dream  of  my 
Soul.  I  have  loved  you  forever,  ages  before  we  were 
born  in  this  world — somewhere — our  souls  met  and  knew 
and  loved.  And  I've  been  looking  for  you  ever  since. 
When  I  saw  you  there  in  the  crowd  that  day,  looking  up 
at  me  with  those  beautiful  blue  eyes,  I  felt  like  shouting 
'  I  have  found  her !  I  have  found  her ! '  and  rushing 
to  your  side  lest  I  should  not  see  you  again." 

"It  is  strange — this  feeling  that  we  have  known  each 
other  forever.  The  moment  you  touched  my  hand  that 
first  day  a  sense  of  perfect  content  and  joy  in  living 
came  over  me.  I  couldn't  remember  the  time  when 
I  hadn't  known  you.  You  seemed  so  much  a  part  of 
my  inmost  thoughts  and  e very-day  life.  I  laughed 
this  morning  from  sheer  madness  of  joy  when  you  told 
me  your  love.  I  knew  you  were  going  to  tell  me 
to-day.  You  tried  yesterday,  but  I  held  you  back.  I 
wanted  you  to  tell  me  here  at  this  beautiful  spot,  that 
the  music  of  this  water  might  always  sing  its  chorus 
with  the  memory  of  your  words." 

' '  Let  me  kiss  your  lips  once  ! "  he  pleaded. 

"No;  you  shall  hold  my  hand  and  kiss  that.  Your 
touch  thrills  every  nerve  of  my  being  like  wine.  It  is 
enough.  I  promised  Mamma  I  would  never  allow  a  man 
to  kiss  me  without  asking  her.  And  we  are  like  loving 
comrades.  I  couldn't  violate  a  promise  to  her.  I  will, 
when  she  says  so." 

"Then  I'll  ask  her.     I  know  she's  on  my  side." 

"  YeSp  I  believe  she  loves  you  because  I  do." 

"What  did  you  whisper  to  her  that  night,  when  we 
came  late,  and  you  said  she  would  be  angry?" 

"Told  her  I  loved  you." 

"  If  I  could  only  have  caught  that  whisper  then  !  You 
don't  know  how  it  delights  me  to  think  your  mother 


278  The  Leopard's  Spots 

likes  me.  I  couldn't  help  loving  her.  It  seems  to  me 
a  divine  seal  on  our  lives." 

"Yes;  and  what  specially  delights  me  is,  you  have 
completely  captured  Papa,  and  he's  so  hard  to  please." 

"You  don't  say  so!" 

"Yes,  he's  been  preaching  you  at  me  ever  since  you 
came  the  first  time.  I  pretended  to  be  indifferent,  to 
draw  him  out.  He  would  say,  '  Now,  Sallie,  there's  a 
man  for  you — no  pretty  dude,  but  a  man,  with  a  kingly 
eye  and  a  big  brain.  That's  tho  kind  of  a  man  who  does 
things  in  the  world  and  makes  history  for  smaller  men 
to  read.'  And  then  I'd  say,  just  to  aggravate  him, 
'But,  Papa,  he's  as  poor  as  Job's  turkey.'" 

"Then  you  ought  to  have  heard  him,  'Well,  what  of 
it !  You  can  begin  in  a  cabin  like  your  mother  and  I 
did.  He's  got  a  better  start  than  I  had,  for  he  has  a 
better  training.'" 

"  I  am  certainly  glad  to  hear  that ! "  Gaston  cried  with 
elation. 

"You  may  be.  For  Papa  is  a  man  of  such  intense 
likes  and  dislikes.  The  first  thing  that  made  my  heart 
flutter  with  fear  was  that  he  might  not  like  you.  He 
loves  me  intensely,  and  I  love  him  devotedly.  I 
could  not  marry  without  his  consent.  You  are  so 
entirely  different  from  any  other  beau  I  ever  had,  I 
couldn't  imagine  what  Papa  would  think  of  you.  You 
wear  such  a  serious  face,  never  go  into  society,  care 
nothing  for  fine  clothes,  and  are  so  careless  that  you 
even  hung  your  feet  out  of  the  buggy  that  first  day  I 
took  you  to  drive.  I  was  glad  to  have  you  in  the  woods 
and  not  in  town.  The  boys  would  have  guyed  me  to 
death.  In  fact,  you  are  the  contradiction  of  the  average 
man  I  have  known,  and  of  all  the  men  I  thought  as  a 
girl  I'd  marry  some  day.  I  am  so  glad  Papa  likes  you." 

That    evening,    when   they  reached   the  house,    she 


The  Old,  Old  Story  279 

hurried  through  the  hall  to  her  mother,  who  was 
standing  on  the  back  porch.  There  was  the  sudden 
swish  of  a  dress,  a  kiss,  another — and  another.  And 
then  the  low  murmur  of  a  mother's  voice  like  the 
crooning  over  a  baby. 


CHAPTER  XII 
THE  MUSIC  OF  THE  MILLS 

WHEN  Gaston  reached  his  home  that  night  St. 
Clare  had  gone  to  bed.  It  was  one  o'clock. 
He  could  not  sleep  yet,  so  he  sat  in  the 
window  and  tried  to  realise  his  great  happiness,  as  he 
looked  out  on  the  green  lawn  with  its  white  gravelled 
walk  glistening  in  the  full  moon. 

"The  world  is  beautiful,  life  is  sweet,  and  God  is 
good!"  he  cried,  in  an  ecstasy  of  joy. 

He  sat  there  in  the  moonlight  for  an  hour  dreaming 
of  his  love  and  the  great  strenuous  life  of  achievement 
he  would  live  with  her  to  inspire  him.  It  seemed  too 
good  to  be  true.  And  yet  it  was  the  largest  living  fact. 
Like  throbbing  music  the  words  were  ringing  in  his 
heart,  keeping  time  with  the  rhythm  of  its  beat,  "I 
do  love  you!" 

And  then  he  did  something  he  had  not  done  for 
years — not  sinc^  his  boyhood:  he  knelt  in  the  silence 
of  the  moonlit  Aoom  and  prayed.  Love,  the  great 
Revealer,  had  led  hi-n  into  the  presence  of  God.  The 
impulse  was  spontaneous  and  resistless.  "Lord,  I 
have  seen  Thy  face,  heart.  Thy  voice,  and  felt  the  touch 
of  Thy  hand  to-day.  I  bless  and  praise  Thee  !  Forgive 
my  doubts  and  fears  and  sins;  cleanse  and  make  me 
worthy  of  her  whom  Thou  has  sent  as  Thy  messenger!" 
So  he  poured  out  his  soul. 

Next   morning  he  grasped   St.    Clare's   hand   as   he 

280 


The  Music  of  the  Mills  281 

entered  the  room.  "Bob,  I'm  the  happiest  man  in 
the  world." 

"Congratulations.     You  look  it." 

"She  loves  me.  I'd  like  to  climb  up  on  the  top  of 
this  house  and  shout  it  until  all  earth  and  heaven 
could  hear  and  be  glad  with  me !" 

"Well,  don't  do  it,  my  boy.     See  her  father  first." 

"She  says  he  likes  me." 

"Then   you're   elected." 

"I'm  going  to  tackle  him  before  I  go  home." 

"Don't  rush  him.  There's  a  superstition  prevalent 
here  that  the  old  gentleman  has  no  idea  of  ever  letting 
his  daughter  leave  that  home,  and  that  he  will  never 
give  his  consent,  when  driven  to  the  wall,  unless  his 
son-in-law  that  is  to  be  will  agree  to  settle  down  there 
and  take  his  place  in  those  big  mills.  He  has  two  great 
loves,  his  daughter  and  his  mills,  and  he  doesn't  mean 
to  let  either  one  of  them  go  if  he  can  help  it." 

"Do  you  believe  it's  true?" 

"Yes,  I  do.     How  do  you  like  the  idea?" 

"It's  not  my  style.  I've  a  pretty  clear  idea  of  what 
I'm  going  to  do  in  this  world." 

"Well,  you'd  better  begin  to  haul  in  your  silk  sails 
and  study  cotton  goods,  is  my  advice." 

"I'll  manage  him." 

"I  don't  know  about  it;  but  if  you've  got  her,  you're 
the  first  man  that  ever  got  far  enough  to  measure 
himself  with  the  General.  I  wish  you  luck." 

"You  the  same,  old  chum.  May  you  conquer 
Boston  and  all  the  Pilgrim  Fathers."  • 

"Thanks.  The  vision  of  one  of  them  disturbs  my 
dreams.  One  will  be  enough." 

Then  followed  six  golden  days  on  the  banks  of  the 
Catawba.  Every  day  he  insisted  with  boyish  enthusi 
asm  on  returning  to  that  rock  and  seating  her  on  her 


282  The  Leopard's  Spots 

throne.  He  called  her  his  queen,  and  worshipped  at 
her  feet. 

He  had  the  friendliest  little  chat  with  her  mother, 
and  told  her  how  he  loved  her  daughter  and  hoped  for 
her  approval.  She  answered  with  frankness  that  she 
was  glad,  and  would  love  him  as  her  own  son,  but  that 
she  disapproved  of  kissing  and  extravagant  love- 
making  until  they  were  ready  to  be  married  and  their 
engagement  duly  announced. 

So  he  could  only  hold  Sallie's  hand  and  kiss  the  tips 
of  her  fingers  and  the  little  dimples  where  they  joined 
the  hand,  and  sometimes  he  would  hold  it  against  his 
own  cheek  while  she  smiled  at  him. 

But  when  they  rode  homeward  one  evening  he  dared 
to  put  his  arm  behind  her,  high  on  the  phaeton's  leather 
cushion,  as  they  were  -going  down  a  hill,  and  then 
lowered  it  a  little  as  they  started  up  the  grade.  She 
leaned  back  and  found  it  there.  At  first  she  nestled 
against  it  very  timidly  and  then  trustingly.  She 
looked  into  his  face  and  both  smiled. 

"Isn't  that  nice,  Sallie?" 

"Yes,  it  is.  I  don't  think  Mamma  would  mind  that, 
do  you?" 

"Of  course  not." 

"Well,  I  never  promised  not  to  lean  back  in  a  phaeton, 
did  I?" 

"Certainly  not,  and  it's  all  right." 

Toward  the  end  of  the  week  the  General  began  to 
show  him  a  grave,  friendly  interest.  He  invited  Gaston 
to  go  over  the  mills  with  him.  The  mills  were  located 
back  of  the  wooded  cliffs  a  quarter  of  a  mile  up  the 
river.  There  were  now  four  magnificent  brick  build 
ings  stretching  out  over  the  river  bottoms  at  right 
angles  to  its  current,  and  there  was  also  a  big  dye- 
house,  a  ginning-house  and  a  cottonseed  oil  mill.  The 


The  Music  of  the  Mills  283 

General  stood  on  the  hilltop  and  proudly  pointed  it 
out  to  him. 

"Isn't  that  a  grand  sight,  young  man!  We  employ 
2,000  hands  down  there,  and  consume  hundreds  of  bales 
of  cotton  a  day.  We  began  here  after  the  war  without 
a  cent,  except  our  faith  and  this  magnificent  water- 
power.  Now  look  ! ' ' 

"You  have  certainly  done  a  great  work,"  said  Gaston. 
"I  had  no  idea  you  had  so  many  industries  in  the 
enclosure." 

"Yes;  I  sit  down  here  on  the  hill  some  nights  in  the 
moonlight  and  look  into  this  valley,  and  the  hum  of  that 
machinery  is  like  ravishing  music.  The  machinery 
seems  to  me  to  be  a  living  thing,  with  millions  of 
ringers  of  steel  and  a  great  throbbing  soul.  I  dream 
of  the  day  when  those  swift  fingers  will  weave  their 
fabrics  of  gold  and  clothe  the  whole  South  in  splen 
dour — the  South  I  love,  arid  for  which  I  fought  and 
have  yearned  over  through  all  these  years.  Ah, 
young  man,  I  wish  you  boys  of  brain  and  genius 
would  quit  throwing  yourselves  away  in  law  and 
dirty  politics  and  devote  your  powers  to  the  South's 
development." 

"Yes;  but  General,  the  people  of  the  South  had  to 
go  into  politics  instead  of  business  on  account  of  the 
enfranchisement  of  the  Negro.  It  was  a  matter  of  life 
and  death." 

"I  didn't  do  it." 

"No,  sir,  but  others  did  for  you." 

"How?"  he  asked  incredulously,  with  just  a  touch 
of  wounded  pride. 

"Well,  how  many  Negroes  do  you  employ  in 
these  mills?" 

"None.  We  don't  allow  a  Negro  to  come  inside  the 
enclosure." 


284  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"Precisely  so.  You  have  prospered  because  you 
have  got  rid  of  the  Negro." 

"I've  simply  let  the  Negro  alone.  Let  others  do  the 
same." 

"But  everybody  can't  do  it.  There  are  now 
nine  millions  of  them.  You've  simply  shifted  the 
burden  on  others'  shoulders.  You  haven't  solved 
the  problem." 

"If  we  had  less  politics  and  more  business  we  would 
be  better  off." 

"But  the  trouble  is,  General,  we  can't  have  more 
business  until  politics  have  settled  some  things." 

"You're  throwing  yourself  away  in  politics,  young 
man.  There's  nothing  in  it  but  dirt  and  disap 
pointment." 

"To  me,  sir,  politics  is  a  religion." 

"Religion!  Politics!  I  didn't  know  you  could  ever 
mix  'em.  I  thought  they  were  about  as  far  apart  as 
heaven  is  from  hell !"  exclaimed  the  General. 

"They  ought  not  to  be,  sir,  whatever  the  terrible 
facts.  I  believe  that  the  Government  is  the  organised 
virtue  of  the  community,  and  that  politics  is  religion  in 
action.  It  may  be  a  poor  sort  of  religion,  but  it  is  the 
best  we  are  capable  of  as  members  of  society." 

"Well,  that's  a  new  idea." 

"It's  coming  to  be  more  and  more  recognised  by 
thoughtful  men,  General.  I  believe  that  the  State  is 
now  the  only  organ  through  which  the  whole  people 
can  search  for  righteousness,  and  that  the  progress  of 
the  world  depends  more  than  ever  on  its  integrity 
and  purity." 

"Well,  you've  cut  out  a  big  job  for  yourself,  if  that's 
your  ideal.  My  idea  of  politics  is  a  pig-pen.  The 
way  to  clean  it  is  to  kill  the  pigs." 

Gaston  laughed  and  shook  his  head. 


The  Music  of  the  Mills  285 

When  they  returned  from  the  mills,  Mrs.  Worth  drew 
the  General  into  her  room. 

"Did  he  ask  you  for  Sallie?" 

"No;  the  young  galoot  never  mentioned  her  name. 
I  thought  he  would.  But,  somehow,  I  must  have 
scared  him." 

"You  didn't  quarrel  over  anything?" 

"  No  !     But  I  found  out  he  had  a  mind  of  his  own." 

"So  have  you,  sir." 


CHAPTER   XIII 
THE    FIRST    KISS 

WHY  didn't  you  ask  him  yesterday?"  cried 
Sallie,  as  she  entered  the  parlour  the  next 
morning. 

"I  was  scared  out  of  my  wits.  We  got  crossways 
on  some  questions  we  were  discussing,  and  he  snorted 
at  me  once,  and  every  time  I  tried  to  screw  up  my  courage 
to  speak  a  lump  got  in  my  throat  and  I  gave  it  up.  I 
thought  I'd  wait  a  day  or  two  until  he  should  be  in  a 
better  humour." 

"He's  gone  away  to-day,"  she  said,  with  plainly 
evinced  disappointment. 

"I'm  glad  of  it;  I'll  write  him  a  letter." 

"If  you  had  asked  him  yesterday  it  would  have  been 
all  right.  He  told  me  so  when  he  left  this  morning 
with  a  very  tender  tremour  in  his  voice." 

"But  it  will  be  all  right,  sweetheart,  when  I  write." 

"I  wanted  my  ring,"  she  whispered. 

"You  shall  have  it,"  he  said,  as  he  seized  her  hand 
and  led  her  to  a  seat. 

"Have  you  got  it  with  you?  "  she  asked,  with  excite 
ment.  "Let  me  see  it,  quick!" 

He  drew  a  little  box  from  his  pocket,  withdrew  the 
ring,  concealing  it  in  his  hand,  slipped  it  on  her  finger 
and  kissed  it.  She  threw  her  hand  up  into  the  light  to 
see  it. 

"It  is  glorious!  It's  the  big,  green  diamond  Hid- 
denite  I  saw  at  the  Exposition  !  It  is  the  most  beautiful 

286 


The  First  Kiss  287 

stone  I  ever  saw,  and  the  only  one  of  its  kind  in  size  and 
colour  in  the  world.  Professor  Hidden  told  me  so.  I 
tried  to  get  Papa  to  buy  it  for  me.  But  he  laughed  at 
me,  and  said  it  was  childish  extravagance.  Charlie, 
dear,  how  could  you  get  it  ?  " 

"That's  a  little  secret.  But  there  are  to  be  no  secrets 
between  us  any  more.  I  had  a  little  hoard  saved  from 
my  mother's  estate  for  the  greatest  need  of  my  life.  I 
confess  my  extravagance." 

"You  are  a  matchless  lover.  I'm  the  proudest  and 
happiest  girl  that  breathes." 

"  Nothing  is  too  good  for  you.  I  wish  I  could  make  a 
greater  sacrifice." 

"Wait  till  I  show  it  to  Mamma,"  and  she  flew  to  her 
mother's  room.  She  returned  immediately,  looking  at 
the  ring  and  kissing  it. 

"  Couldn't  show  it  to  her;  she  had  company,"  she  said. 
"Allan  is  talking  to  her." 

"Let's  get  out  of  the  house,  dear.  I  hate  that  man 
like  a  rattlesnake." 

"Don't  be  silly  !     I  never  cared  a  snap  for  him." 

"I  know  you  didn't,  but  there  is  a  poison  about  him 
that  taints  the  air  for  me.  Get  your  horse  and  let's  go 
to  our  place  at  the  old  mill." 

They  soon  reached  the  spot,  and  with  a  laugh  she 
sprang  upon  the  rock  and  took  her  seat  against  the 
tree. 

"  Now,  dear,  humour  this  whim  of  mine.  I've  grown 
superstitious  since  you  made  me  happy.  I  have  a 
presentiment  of  evil  because  that  man  was  in  the  house. 
I  am  going  to  take  the  ring  off  and  put  it  on  your  hand 
again  out  here,  where  only  the  eyes  of  our  birds  will  see 
and  the  river  we  love  will  hear." 

"That  will  be  nicer.  I  somehow  feel  that  my  life  is 
built  on  this  dear  old  rock,"  she  answered,  soberly. 


288  The  Leopard's  Spots 

He  took  the  ring  off  her  finger,  dipped  it  in  the  white 
foam  of  the  river,  kissed  it,  and  placed  it  on  her  hand. 

"Now  the  spell  is  broken,  isn't  it?"  she  cried,  holding 
it  out  in  the  sunlight  a  moment  to  catch  the  flash  of  its 
green  diamond 'depth. 

"I've  another  token  for  you.  This  you  will  not  even 
show  to  your  mother  or  father."  She  bent  low  over  a 
tiny  package  he  unfolded. 

"This  is  the  first  medal  I  won  at  college,"  he  con 
tinued — "the  first  victory  of  my  life.  It  was  the  force 
that  determined  my  character.  It  gave  me  an  inflexible 
will.  I  worked  at  a  tremendous  disadvantage.  Others 
were  two  years  ahead  of  me  in  study  for  the  contest.  I 
locked  myself  up  in  my  room  day  and  night  for  ten 
months,  and  took  just  enough  food  and  sleep  for  strength 
to  work.  I  worked  seventeen  hours  a  day,  except 
Sundays,  for  ten  months,  without  an  hour  of  play.  I  won 
it  brilliantly.  Every  line  cut  on  its  gold  surface  stands 
for  a  thousand  aches  of  my  body.  Every  little  pearl  set 
in  it  grew  in  a  pain  of  that  struggle  which  set  its  seal 
on  my  inmost  life.  I  came  out  of  those  ten  months  a 
man.  I  have  never  known  the  whims  of  a  boy  since." 

"And  you  engraved  something  on  the  back  to  me  ?" 

"Yes.     Can't  you  read  it?" 

"My  eyes  are  dim,"  she  whispered. 

"It  is  this — In  the  hand  of  manhood's  tender est  love 
I  bring  to  thee  my  boyhood's  brightest  dream.  I  was  a 
man  when  I  woke,  but  I  have  never  lived  till  you  taught 
me.  Keep  this  as  a  pledge  of  eternal  love.  It's  the 
only  trinket  I  ever  possessed.  The  world  will  see  our 
ring.  Don't  let  them  see  this.  It  is  the  seal  of  your 
sovereignty  of  my  soul  in  life,  in  death,  and  beyond. 
Will  you  make  me  this  eternal  pledge?" 

"Unto  the  uttermost !  "  she  murmured. 

"Unto  the  uttermost !  "  he  solemnly  echoed. 


The  First  Kiss  289 

"And  now,  what  can  I  say  or  do  for  you  when  you 
show  me  in  this  spirit  of  prodigal  sacrifice  how  dear  I 
am  in  your  eyes?  " 

"Those  words  from  your  lips  are  enough,"  he  declared. 

"I'll  give  you  more.  I'm  going  to  give  you  just  a 
little  bit  of  myself.  I  haven't  asked  Mamma,  but  we  are 
engaged  now.  Come  closer." 

She  placed  her  beautiful  arms  around  his  neck 
and  pressed  her  lips  upon  his  in  the  first  rapturous 
kiss  of  love. 

"No — no  more.     It  is  enough,"  she  protested. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A   MYSTERIOUS    LETTER 

HE  was  at  home  now,  waiting  impatiently  for  the 
General's  answer  to  his  letter.  Two  weeks  had 
passed  and  he  had  not  received  it.  But  she 
had  explained  in  her  letters  that  her  father  had  returned 
the  day  he  left,  had  a  talk  with  McLeod,  and  left  on 
important  business.  They  were  expecting  his  return 
at  any  moment. 

It  was  a  new  revelation  of  life  he  found  in  their  first 
love  letters.  He  never  knew  that  he  could  write  before. 
He  sat  for  hours  at  his  desk  in  his  law  office  and  poured 
out  to  her  his  dreams,  hopes  and  ambitions.  All  the 
poetry  of  youth  and  the  passion  and  beauty  of  life  he 
put  into  those  letters. 

He  wrote  to  her  every  day  and  she  answered  every 
other  day.  She  wrote  in  half-tearful  apology  that  her 
mother  disapproved  of  a  daily  letter,  and  she  added, 
wistfully:  "I  should  like  to  write  to  you  twice  a  day. 
Take  the  will  for  the  deed,  and  as  you  love  me,  be  sure 
to  continue  yours  daily." 

And  on  the  days  the  letter  came,  with  eager,  trembling 
hands  he  seized  it,  without  waiting  for  the  rest  of  his 
mail  or  his  papers.  With  set  face  and  quick,  nervous 
step  he  would  mount  the  stairs  to  his  office,  lock  his  door 
and  sit  down  to  devour  it.  He  would  hold  it  in  his  hands 
sometimes  for  ten  minutes  just  to  laugh  and  muse  over  it, 
and  try  to  guess  what  new  trick  of  phrase  she  had  used 
to  express  her  love.  He  was  surprised  at  her  brilliance 

290 


A  Mysterious  Letter   .  291 

and  wit.  He  had  not  held  her  so  deep  a  thinker  on  the 
serious  things  of  life  as  these  letters  had  showed,  nor 
had  he  noticed  how  keen  her  sense  of  humour.  He 
was  so  busy  looking  at  her  beautiful  face,  and 
drinking  the  love-light  from  her  eyes,  he  had  over 
looked  these  things  when  with  her.  Now  they 
flashed  on  him  as  a  new  treasure  that  would  enrich 
his  life. 

At  the  end  of  two  weeks,  when  the  General  had  not 
answered  his  letter,  he  began  to  grow  nervous.  A  vague 
feeling  of  fear  grew  on  him.  Something  had  happened 
to  darken  his  future.  He  felt  it  by  a  subtle  telepathy  of 
sympathetic  thought.  He  was  gloomy  and  depressed 
all  day  after  he  had  received  and  feasted  on  the 
wittiest  letter  she  had  ever  written.  What  could  it 
mean,  he  asked  himself  a  thousand  times.  Some 
shadow  had  fallen  across  their  lives.  He  knew  it  as 
clearly  as  if  the  revelation  of  its  misery  were  already 
unfolded. 

He  went  to  the  post-office  on  the  next  day  he  was  to 
receive  a  letter,  crushed  with  a  sense  of  foreboding.  He 
wa '  ted  until  the  mail  was  all  distributed  and  the  general 
delivery  window  flung  open  before  he  approached  his 
box.  He  was  afraid  to  look  at  her  letter.  He  slowly 
opened  the  box. 

There  was  nothing  in  it. 

"Sam,  you're  not  holding  out  my  letter  to  tease  me, 
old  boy?  "  he  asked,  pathetically. 

Sam  was  about  to  joke  him  about  the  uncertainties  of 
love  when  his  eyes  rested  on  his  drawn  face. 

"Lord,  no,  Charlie!"  he  protested.  "You  know  I 
wouldn't  treat  you  like  that." 

"Then  look  again;  you  may  have  dropped  it." 

Sam  turned  and  looked  carefully  over  the  floor,  over 
and  under  his  desks  and  tables,  and  returned. 


2 92  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"No;  but  it  may  have  been  thrown  into  the  wrong 
bag  by  that  fool  mail  clerk  on  the  train.  You  may 
get  it  to-morrow." 

He  turned  away  and  walked  to  his  office,  forgetting 
his  key  in  the  open  box.  The  vague  sense  of  calamity 
that  weighed  on  his  heart  for  the  past  two  days  new 
became  a  reality. 

He  sat  in  his  office  all  the  afternoon  in  a  dull  stupor 
of  suspense.  He  tried  to  read  her  last  letter  over.  But 
the  pages  would  get  blurred  and  fade  out  of  sight,  and 
he  would  wake  to  find  he  had  been  staring  at  one 
sentence  for  an  hour. 

He  knew  his  foster  mother  would  be  all  sympathy  and 
tenderness  if  he  told  her,  but  somehow  he  hadn't  the 
heart.  She  had  led  him  to  his  love.  He  had  been  so 
boyishly  and  frankly  happy,  boasting  to  her  of  his 
success,  he  sickened  at  the  thought  of  telling  her.  He 
went  out  for  a  walk  in  the  woods  and  lay  down  alone 
beside  a  brook  like  a  wounded  animal. 

The  next  day  he  watched  his  box  again  with  the 
hope  that  Sam's  guess  might  be  right  and  the  missing 
letter  would  come.  But,  instead  of  the  big  square  °ut 
envelope  he  had  waited  for,  he  received  a  bulky  letter 
in  an  old-fashioned  masculine  handwriting  with  the 
postmark  of  Independence  and  a  mill  mark  in  the  upper 
left-hand  corner. 

He  did  not  have  to  look  twice  at  that  letter.  It  was  the 
sealed  verdict  of  his  jury.  He  locked  his  office  door.  The 
letter  was  long  and  rambling,  full  of  a  kindly  sympathy 
expressed  in  a  restrained  manner.  He  could  not  believe 
at  first  that  so  outspoken  a  man  as  the  General  could 
have  written  it.  The  substance  of  its  meaning,  however, 
was  plain  enough.  He  meant  to  say  that  as  he  was  not 
in  a  position  to  make  a  suitable  home  at  present  for  a 
wife,  and  as  he  disapproved  of  long  engagements,  it 


A  Mysterious  Letter  293 

seemed  better  that  no  engagement  should  be  entered 
into  or  announced. 

He  stared  at  this  letter  for  an  hour,  trying  to  grasp  the 
mystery  that  lay  back  of  its  halting,  half-contradictory 
sentences.  He  did  not  know  until  long  afterward 
that  the  General  had  written  it  with  two  blue  eyes  tear 
fully  watching  him  and  waiting  to  read  it;  that  now 
and  then  there  was  the  sound  of  a  great  sob,  and  two 
arms  were  around  his  neck,  and  a  still  white  face  lying 
on  his  shoulder,  and  that  tears  had  washed  all  the  harsh 
ness  and  emphasis  out  of  what  he  had  meant  to  write, 
and  all  but  blotted  out  any  meaning  to  what  he  did 
write. 

But  withal  it  was  clear  enough  in  its  import.  It  meant 
that  the  General  had  haltingly  but  authoritatively 
denied  his  suit.  He  instantly  made  up  his  mind  to  ask 
an  interview  at  his  home  and  know  plainly  all  his  reasons 
for  this  change  of  attitude.  He  wrote  his  letter  and 
posted  it  immediately  by  return  mail.  He  knew  that 
the  request  would  precipitate  a  crisis,  and  he  trembled 
at  the  outcome.  Either  her  father  would  hesitate  and 
receive  him,  or  end  it  with  a  crash  of  his  imperious  wilL 


CHAPTER    XV 
A  BLOW  IN  THE  DARK 

THE  noon  mail  brought  Gaston  no  answer.  At 
night  he  felt  sure  it  would  come. 
When  the  wagon  dashed  up  to  the  post-office 
that  night  it  was  fifteen  minutes  late.  He  was  walking 
up  and  down  the  street  on  the  opposite  pavement  along 
the'square,  keeping  under  the  shadows  of  the  trees.  He 
turned,  quickly  crossed  the  street,  and  stood  inside  the 
office,  listening  with  a  feeling  of  strange  abstraction  to 
the  tramp  of  the  postmaster's  feet  back  and  forth  as  he 
distributed  the  mail.  He  never  knew  before  what  a 
tragedy  might  be  concealed  in  the  thrust  of  a  bit  of  folded 
paper  into  a  tiny  glass-eyed  box.  As  he  waited,  fearing 
to  face  his  fate,  he  remembered  the  pathetic  figure  of  a 
gray-haired  old  man  who  stood  there  one  day  hanging 
on  that  desk  softly  talking  to  himself.  He  was  a  stranger 
at  the  Springs,  and  they  were  alone  in  the  office  together. 
Now  and  then  he  brushed  a  tear  from  his  eyes,  glanced 
timidly  at  the  window  of  the  general  delivery,  starting  at 
every  quick  movement  inside  as  though  afrai  i  the  win~ 
dow  had  opened.  Gaston  had  gone  up  close  to  the  old 
man,  drawn  by  the  look  of  anguish  in  his  dignified  face. 
The  stranger  intuitively  recognised  the  sympathy  of  the 
movement,  and  explained,  tremblingly:  "My  son,  I  am 
waiting  for  a  message  of  life  or  death" — he  faltered, 
seized  his  hand,  and  added,  "and  I'm  afraid  to  see  it !  " 

294 


A  Blow  in  the  Dark  295 

Just  then  the  window  opened  and  he  clutched  his  arm 
and  gasped,  with  dilated,  staring  eyes : 

"There,  there ;  it's  come  !  You  go  for  me,  my  son,  and 
ask  while  I  pray!  I'm  afraid." 

How  well  Gaston  remembered  now  with  what  trem 
bling  eagerness  the  old  man  had  broken  the  seal  and 
then  stood  with  head  bowed  low,  crying: 

"I  thank  and  bless  thee,  oh,  Mother  of  Jesus,  for 
this  hour!  "  And  looking  up  into  his  face  with  tear- 
streaming  eyes  he  cried  in  a  rich,  low  voice,  like  tender 
music,  "How  beautiful  are  the  feet  of  them  that 
bring  glad  tidings  !  " 

He  could  feel  now  the  warm  pressure  of  his  hand  as 
he  walked  out  of  the  office  with  him. 

How  vividly  the  whole  scene  came  rushing  over  him  ! 
He  thought  he  sympathised  with  his  old  friend  that 
night,  but  now  he  entered  into  the  fellowship  of  his 
sorrow.  Now  he  knew. 

At  last  he  drew  himself  up,  walked  to  his  box  and 
opened  it.  His  heart  leaped.  A  big,  square-cut  envelope 
lay  in  it,  addressed  to  him  in  her  own  beautiful  hand. 
He  snatched  it  out  and  hurried  to  his  office.  The 
moment  he  touched  it  his  heart  sank.  It  was  light  and 
thin.  Evidently  there  was  but  a  single  sheet  of  paper 
within. 

He  tore  it  open  and  stared  at  it  with  parted  lips  and 
half -seeing  eyes.  The  first  word  struck  his  soul  with  a 
deadly  chill.  This  was  what  he  read: 

"My  Dear  Mr.  Gaston:  I  write  in  obedience  to  the 
wishes  of  my  parents  to  say  our  engagement  must  end 
and  our  correspondence  cease.  I  cannot  explain  to  you 
the  reasons  for  this.  I  have  acquiesced  in  their  judg 
ment,  that  it  is  best. 

"I   return   your    letters    by  to-morrow's  mail,    and 


296  The  Leopard's  Spots 

Mamma    requests    that    you    return    mine    to   her   at 
Oakwood   immediately. 

"I  leave  to-night  on  the  Limited  for  Atlanta,  where 
I  join  a  friend.  We  go  to  Savannah,  and  thence  by 
steamer  to  Boston,  where  I  shall  visit  Helen  for  a  month. 

"Sincerely, 

"SALLIE   WORTH." 

For  a  long  time  he  looked  at  the  letter  in  a  stupor  of 
amazement.  That  her  father  could  coerce  her  hand  into 
writing  such  a  brutal,  commonplace  note  was  a  revela 
tion  of  his  power  he  had  never  dreamed.  And  then  his 
anger  began  to  rise.  His  fighting  blood  from  soldier 
ancestors  made  his  nerves  tingle  at  this  challenge. 

He  took  up  the  letter  and  read  it  again  curiously, 
studying  each  word.  He  opened  the  folded  sheet,  hop 
ing  to  find  some  detached  message.  There  was  nothing 
inside.  But  he  noticed  on  the  other  side  of  the  sheet,  a 
lot  of  indentures  as  though  made  by  the  end  of  a 
needle.  He  turned  it  back  and  studied  these  dots 
under  different  letters  in  the  words  made  by  the 
needle  points.  He  spelled: 

"My  Darling — Unto  the  Uttermost." 

And  then  he  covered  the  note  with  kisses,  sprang  to 
his  feet  and  looked  at  his  watch. 

It  was  now  ten  thirty.  The  Limited  left  Independ 
ence  at  eleven  o'clock  and  made  no  stops  for  the  first 
hundred  miles  toward  Atlanta.  But  just  to  the  south, 
where  the  railroad  skirted  the  foot  of  King's  Mountain, 
there  was  a  water-tank  on  the  mountainside  where  he 
knew  the  train  stopped  for  water  about  midnight. 

With  a  fast  horse  he  could  make  the  eighteen  miles 
and  board  the  Limited  at  this  water  station.  The  only 
danger  was  if  the  sky  should  cloud  over  and  the  star 
light  be  lost  it  would  be  difficult  to  keep  in  the  narrow 


A  Blow  in  the  Dark  297 

road  that  wound  over  the  semi-mountainous  hills,  dense 
ly  wooded,  that  must  be  crossed  to  make  it. 

"I'll  try  it !  "  he  exclaimed.  "Yes,  I  will  do  it,"  he 
added,  setting  his  teeth.  "I'll  make  that  train." 

He  got  the  best  horse  he  could  find  in  the  livery 
stable,  saw  that  his  saddle  girths  were  strong,  sprang 
on  and  galloped  toward  the  south.  It  was  a  quarter  to 
eleven  when  he  started,  and  it  seemed  a  doubtful  under 
taking.  The  Limited  would  make  the  run  from  Inde 
pendence,  fifty-two  miles,  in  an  hour  at  the  most.  If 
the  train  were  on  time  it  would  be  a  close  shave  for 
him  to  make  the  eighteen  miles. 

The  sky  clouded  slightly  before  he  reached  the  moun 
tain.  In  spite  of  his  vigilance  he  lost  his  way  and  had 
gone  a  quarter  of  a  mile  before  a  rift  in  the  cloud  showed 
him  the  north  star  suddenly,  and  he  found  he  had  taken 
the  wrong  road  at  the  crossing  and  was  going  straight 
back  home. 

Wheeling  his  horse,  he  put  spurs  to  him,  and  dashed 
at  full  speed  back  through  the  dense  woods. 

Just  as  he  got  within  a  mile  of  the  tank  he  heard  the 
train  blow  for  the  bridge  crossing  at  the  river  near  by. 

"Now,  my  boy,"  he  cried  to  his  horse,  patting  him — 
"Now,  your  level  best !  " 

The  horse  responded  with  a  spurt  of  desperate  speed. 
He  had  a  way  of  handling  a  horse  that  the  animal  re 
sponded  to  with  almost  human  sympathy  and  intelli 
gence.  He  seemed  to  breathe  his  own  will  into  the 
horse's  spirit.  He  flew  over  the  ground,  and  reached 
the  train  just  as  the  fireman  cut  off  the  water  and  the 
engineer  tapped  his  bell  to  start. 

He  flung  his  horse's  rein  over  a  hitching  post  that 
stood  near  the  silent  little  station-house,  rushed  to  the 
track,  and  sprang  on  the  day  coach  as  it  passed. 

He  had  intended  to  ride  fifty  miles  on  this  train,  see 


298  The  Leopard's  Spots 

his  sweetheart  face  to  face,  learn  the  truth  from  her 
own  lips,  and  then  return  on  the  up-train.  He  hoped 
to  ride  back  to  Hambright  before  day  and  keep  the 
fact  of  his  trip  a  secret. 

Now  a  new  difficulty  arose — a  very  simple  one — that 
he  had  not  thought  of  for  a  moment.  She  was  in  a 
Pullman  sleeper,  of  course,  and  asleep. 

There  were  three  sleepers,  one  for  Atlanta,  one  for 
New  Orleans,  and  one  for  Memphis.  Fie  hoped  she 
was  in  the  Atlanta  sleeper,  as  that  was  her  destination, 
though  if  that  were  crowded  in  its  lower  berths  she 
might  be  in  either  of  the  others.  But  how  under 
heaven  could  he  locate  her?  The  porter  probably 
would  not  know  her. 

He  was  puzzled.  The  conductor  approached,  and  he 
paid  his  fare  to  the  next  stop,  fifty  miles. 

"I've  an  important  message  for  a  passenger  in  one  of 
these  sleepers,  Captain,"  he  exclaimed.  "I  have  ridden 
across  the  mountains  to  catch  the  train  here." 

Ml  right,"  said  the  conductor.     "Go  right  in   and 
deliver  it.     You  look  like  you  had  a  tussle  to  get  here." 

"It  was  a  close  shave,"  Gaston  replied. 

He  stepped  into  the  Atlanta  sleeper  and  encountered 
the  dusky  potentate  who  presided  over  its  aisles. 

The  porter  looked  up  from  the  shoes  he  was  shining 
at  Gaston's  dishevelled  hair  and  gave  him  no  welcome. 

Gaston  dropped  a  half-dollar  into  his  hand  and  the 
porter  dropped  the  shoes  and  grinned  a  royal  welcome. 

"Anyting  I  kin  do  fer  ye,  boss?" 

"Got  any  ladies  on  your  car?" 

"Yassir,  three  un  'em." 

"Young  or  old?" 

•'One  young  un  en  two  ole  uns." 

"Did  tne  young  lady  get  on  at  Independence?" 

"Yassir." 


A  Blow  in  the  Dark  299 

"Going  to  Atlanta?" 

"Yassir." 

"Is  she  very  beautiful?" 

"Boss,  she's  de  purtiess  young  lady  I  eber  laid  my 
eyes  on — but  look  lak  she  been  cryin'." 

"Then  I  want  you  to  wake  her.     I  must  see  her." 

"Lordy,  boss,  I  can't  do  dat.     Hit  ergin  de  rules." 

"But  I'm  bound  to  see  her.  I've  ridden  eighteen 
miles  across  the  mountains  and  scratched  my  face  all  to 
pieces  rushing  through  those  woods.  I've  a  message 
of  the  utmost  importance  for  her." 

"Cain*  do  hit,  boss;  hit's  ergin  de  rules.  But  you 
can  go  wake  her  yo'se'f  ef  you'se  er  mind  ter.  I  cain* 
keep  you  fum  it.  She's  dar  in  number  seben." 

Gaston  hesitated.  "No,  you  must  wake  her,"  he 
insisted,  dropping  another  coin  into  the  porter's  hand. 

The  porter  got  up  with  a  grin.  He  felt  he  must  rise 
to  a  great  occasion. 

"Well,  I  des  fumble  roun'  de  berth  en  mebbe  she  wake 
herse'f,  en  den  I  tell  her." 

Just  then  the  electric  bell  overhead  rang  and  the 
index  pointed  to  7.  "Dar,  now,  dat's  her  callin"  me, 
sho'!" 

He  approached  the  berth.  "What  kin  I  do  fur  ye, 
Ma'am?"  he  whispered. 

"Porter,  who  is  that  you  are  talking  to?  It  sounds 
like  some  one  I  know." 

"Yassum;  hit's  young  gent  name  er  Gaston,  jump  on 
bode  at  the  water  station — say  he  got  'portant  message 
fur  you." 

"Tell  him  I  will  see  him  in  a  moment." 

The  porter  returned  with  the  message. 

"You  des  wait  in  dar,  in  number  one — hit's  not  made 
up — twell  she  come,"  he  added. 

There  was  the  soft  rustle    of  a  dressing-gown — he 


300  The  Leopard's  Spots 

sprang  to  his  feet,  clasped  her  hand  passionately,  kissed 
it,  and  silently  she  took  her  seat  by  his  side.  He  still 
held  her  hand,  and  she  pressed  his  gently  in  response. 
He  saw  that  she  was  crying,  and  his  heart  was  too  full 
for  words  for  a  moment. 

He  looked  long  and  wistfully  in  her  face.  In  her 
dishevelled  hair  by  the  dim  light  of  the  car  he  thought 
her  more  beautiful  than  ever.  At  last  she  brushed  the 
tears  from  her  eyes  and  turned  her  face  full  on  his  with 
a  sad  smile. 

"My  love!"  she  sobbed,  "I  prayed  that  I  might 
see  you  somehow  before  I  left.  I  was  wide  awake 
when  I  first  heard  the  distant  murmur  of  your  voice. 
I  am  so  glad  you  came ! "  And  she  pressed  his  hand. 

"I  got  your  letter  at  ten  thirty " 

"Oh,  that  awful  letter!  How  I  cried  over  it.  Papa 
made  me  write  it,  and  read  and  mailed  it  himself.  But 
you  saw  my  message  between  the  lines?" 

"Yes;  and  then  I  covered  it  with  kisses.  But  what 
is  the  cause  of  this  sudden  change  of  the  General  toward 
me?  What  have  I  done?" 

"  Please  don't  ask  me.  I  can't  tell  you,"  she  sobbed, 
lowering  her  face  a  moment  to  his  hand  and  kissing  it. 
"Don't  ask  me." 

"  But,  my  dear,  I  must  know.  There  can  be  no  secrets 
between  us." 

"My  lips  will  never  tell  you.  There  have  been  a 
thousand  slanders  breathed  against  you.  I  met  them 
with  fury  and  scorn,  and  no  one  has  dared  repeat  them 
in  my  hearing.  I  would  not  pollute  my  lips  by  repeating 
one  of  them." 

"But  who  is  their  author?" 

"  I  cannot  tell  you.  I  promised  Mamma  I  wouldn't. 
She  loves  you,  and  she  is  on  our  side,  but  said  it  was 
best.  Papa  has  made  up  his  mind  to  break  our  engage- 


A  Blow  in  the  Dark  301 

ment  forever.  And  I  defied  him.  We  had  a  scene. 
I  didn't  know  I  had  the  strength  of  will  that  came  to 
me.  I  said  some  terrible  things  to  him,  and  he  said 
some  very  cruel  things  to  me.  Poor  Mamma  was  pros 
trated.  Her  heart  is  weak,  and  I  only  yielded  at  last 
as  far  as  I  have  because  of  her  tears  and  suffering. 
I  could  not  endure  her  pleadings.  So  I  promised  to  do 
as  he  wished  for  the  present,  leave  for  Boston,  and 
cease  to  write  to  you." 

"My  love,  I  must  know  my  enemy  to  meet  him  and 
face  the  issue  he  raises.  I  cannot  be  strangled  in  the 
dark  like  this." 

"You  will  find  it  out  soon  enough;  I  cannot  tell  you," 
she  repeated.  "I  only  ask  you  to  trust  me,  in  this  the 
darkest  hour  that  has  ever  come  to  my  life.  You  will 
trust  me,  will  you.  not,  dear?"  she  pleaded. 

"I  have  trusted  you  with  my  immortal  soul.  You 
know  this." 

"Yes,  yes,  dear,  I  do.  Then  you  can  love  and  trust 
me  without  a  letter  or  a  word  between  us  until  Mamma 
is  better  and  I  can  get  her  consent  to  write  to  you? 
I  never  knew  how  tenderly  and  desperately  I  love  you 
until  this  shadow  came  over  our  lives.  No  power  shall 
ever  separate  us  when  the  final  test  comes,  unless  you 
shall  grow  weary." 

"  Do  not  say  that,"  he  interrupted.  "  I  love  you  with 
a  love  that  has  brought  me  out  of  the  shadows  and 
shown  me  the  face  of  God.  Death  shall  not  bring 
weariness.  But  I  dread  with  sickening  fear  the  efforts 
they  will  make  to  plunge  you  into  the  whirl  of  frivolous 
society.  I  shall  be  a  lonely  beggar  a  thousand  miles 
away  with  not  one  friendly  face  near  to  plead  my  cause." 

"Hush!"  she  broke  in  upon  him.  "You  are  for  me 
the  one  living  presence.  You  are  always  near — oh,  so 
near,  closer  than  breathing  1" 


302  The  Leopard's  Spots 

The  roar  of  the  train  became  sonorous  with  the 
vibration  of  a  great  bridge.  He  looked  at  his  watch. 

"We  are  more  than  half  way  to  the  stop  where  I  must 
leave  you  and  return." 

"How  long  have  you  been  here?" 

"  More  than  a  half  hour.  It  does  not  seem  two  minutes. 
Only  a  few  minutes  more  face  to  face,  and  all  life 
crowding  for  utterance !  How  can  I  choose  what  to 
say,  when  my  tongue  only  desires  to  say  /  love  you ! 
Bend  near  and  whisper  to  me  again  your  love  vow," 
he  cried,  in  trembling  accents. 

Close  to  his  ear  she  placed  her  lips,  holding  fast  his 
hand,  whispering  again  and  again,  "My  love — unto 
the  uttermost.  In  life,  in  death,  forever !" 

He  bent  again  and  pressed  his  lips  on  her  hand  and 
she  felt  the  hct  tears. 

"And  now  comes  the  hardest  thing  of  all,"  she 
sobbed.  "I  must  return  to  you  my  ring." 

"For  God's  sake  keep  it!"  he  pleaded. 

"  No,  I  promised  Mamma  for  peace  sake  I  would  retxirn 
it.  She  is  very  weak.  I  could  not  dare  to  hurt  her 
now  with  a  broken  promise.  She  may  not  live  long.  I 
could  never  forgive  myself.  Keep  it  for  me  until  I 
can  wear  it." 

She  placed  it  in  his  hand  and  it  burnt  like  a  red-hot 
coal.  He  placed  it  in  an  inside  pocket  next  to  his  heart. 
It  felt  like  a  huge  millstone  crushing  him.  A  lump  rose 
in  his  throat  and  choked  him  until  he  gasped  for  breath. 

She  looked  at  him  pathetically  and  saw  his  anguish. 

"Come,  my  love,"  she  pleaded,  reproachfully,  "you 
must  not  make  it  harder  for  me.  You  are  a  man.  You 
are  stronger  than  I  am.  Love  is  more  my  whole  life 
than  it  can  be  yours.  For  this  cruel  thing  I  have  said 
and  done,  you  may  press  on  my  lips  another  kiss.  If  I  am 
disobedient  to  my  mother's  wishes  God  will  forgive  mcc8' 


A  Blow  in  the  Dark  303 

The  train  blew  the  long  deep  call  for  its  hundred- 
mile  stop  and  they  both  rose.  He  took  her  hands  in  his. 

"You  have  promised  not  to  write  to  me,  but  I  have 
made  no  promise.  I  will  write  to  you  as  often  as  I 
can  send  you  a  cheerful  message,"  he  said. 

"It  is  so  sweet  of  you!" 

"You  have  the  little  love-token  still?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  in  my  bosom.  I  feel  it  warm  and  throbbing 
with  your  love,  and  it  shall  not  be  taken  from  me  in 
the  grave." 

"That  thought  will  cheer  the  darkest  hours  that  can 
come,  and  now,  till  we  meet  again,  we  must  say  good- 
by,"  he  said  huskily. 

She  could  ma.ke  no  response.  He  placed  his  arms 
around  her,  pressed  her  close  to  his  heart  for  a  moment 
— one  long,  wistful  kiss,  and  he  was  gone. 

He  rode  slowly  back  to  Kambright.  The  eastern 
horizon  was  fringed  with  the  light  of  dawn  when  he 
reached  the  town.  The  more  he  had  thought  of  his 
position  and  the  way  the  General  had  treated  him  in 
attempting  to  settle  his  fate  by  a  fiat  of  his  own  will 
without  a  hearing,  the  more  it  roused  his  wrath  and 
nerved  him  for  the  struggle.  They  were  to  measure 
wills  in  a  contest  that  on  his  part  had  life  for  its  stake. 

"I'll  give  the  old  warrior  the  fight  of  his  career!"  he 
muttered,  as  he  snapped  his  square  jaws  together  with 
the  grip  of  a  vise.  "My  brains  and  every  power  with 
which  nature  has  endowed  me  against  his  will  and  his 
money,  And  for  the  dastard  who  has  slandered  me 
there  will  be  a  reckoning." 

He  was  fighting  in  the  dark,  but  deep  down  in  him  he 
had  a  soldier's  love  for  a  fight.  His  soul  rose  to  meet 
the  challenge  of  this  hidden  foe  armed  in  the  steel  of 
a  proud  heritage  of  courage.  He  went  to  bed  and  slept 
soundly  for  six  hours. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
THL  MYSTERY  OP  PAIN 

G ASTON  awoke  next  morning  at  half-past  ten 
o'clock  with  a  dull  headache  and  a  sense  of 
hopeless  depression.  His  anger  had  cooled 
and  left  him  the  pitiful  consciousness  of  his  loss.  He 
slowly  and  mechanically  dressed. 

When  he  buttoned  his  coat  he  felt  something  hard 
press  against  his  heart.  It  was  the  ring.  He  sat  down 
on  his  bed  and  drew  it  from  his  pocket.  To  his  surprise 
he  found  coiled  inside  it  and  tied  by  a  tiny  ribbon  a 
ringlet  of  her  hair.  She  had  taken  off  the  ring  in  her 
mother's  presence  and  promised  her  to  register  and  mail 
it  in  Atlanta.  She  had  bound  this  little  piece  of  herself 
with  it.  He  kissed  it  tenderly. 

"My  God,  it  is  hard!"  he  groaned.  And  all  the 
unshed  tears  that  his  eager  interest  in  her  presence  and 
his  kindling  anger  the  night  before  had  kept  back  now 
blinded  him. 

He  did  not  notice  his  door  softly  open,  nor  know  his 
mother  was  near  until  she  placed  her  hand  gently  on  his 
shoulder.  He  looked  up  at  her  face  full  of  tender 
sympathy,  and  poured  cut  to  her  his  trouble  in  a  torrent 
of  hot,  rebellious  words. 

"What  have  I  done  to  be  treated  like  a  dog  in  this 
way?"  he  ended,  with  a  voice  trembling  with  protest. 

"Perhaps  you  have  offended  the  General  in  some 
way?" 

"Impossible.  I  have  been  the  soul  of  deference 
to  him." 

304 


The  Mystery  of  Pain  305 

"He's  a  very  proud  man  when  his  vanity  is  touched, 
are  you  sure  of  it?" 

"As  sure  as  that  I  live.  No;  some  scoundrel  has 
interfered  between  us  and  in  some  unaccountable  way 
covered  me  with  infamy  in  the  General's  eyes." 

"But  who  could  have  done  it?" 

"  I  used  my  utmost  power  of  persuasion  to  get  it  from 
her.  But  she  would  not  tell  me.  I  have  been  stabbed 
in  the  dark." 

"Whom  do  you  suspect?     She  has  a  dozen  suitors." 

"There's  only  one  man  among  them  who  is  capable  of 
it — Allan  McLeod." 

"Nonsense,  child.  He  is  not  one  of  her  suitors/* 
she  protested,  warmly. 

"Then  why  does  he  hang  around  the  house  with  such 
dogged  persistence?" 

"He  has  always  had  the  run  of  the  house.  His 
father  committed  him  to  the  General  when  he  died  on 
the  battlefield." 

Her  face  clouded,  and  then  a  great  pity  for  his  sorrow 
filled  her  heart.  She  stooped  and  kissed  him. 

"Come,  Charlie,  you  must  cheer  up.  If  she  loves 
you,  it's  everything.  You  will  win  her." 

"But  what  rankles  in  my  soul  is  that  I  have  been 
treated  like  a  dog.  If  he  objected  to  my  poverty,  that 
was  as  evident  the  first  day  he  welcomed  me  to  his  house 
as  the  day  he  dictated  to  her  his  brutal  message,  refusing 
me  a  word.  He  welcomed  me  to  his  house,  and  gave 
Miss  Sallie  his  approval  of  our  love  while  I  was  there. 
There  could  be  no  mistake,  for  she  told  me  so." 

"I  can't  understand  it,"  she  interrupted. 

"Now  he  suddenly  shows  me  the  door  and  refuses  to 
allow  me  to  even  ask  an  explanation.  If  he  thinks  he 
can  settle  my  life  for  me  in  that  simple  manner,  I'll 
show  him  that  I'll  at  least  help  in  the  settlement." 


306  'The  Leopard's  Spots 

"Good.  I  like  to  see  your  eyes  flash  that  fire. 
Don't  forget  your  resolution.  Your  enemies  are  your 
best  friends."  She  said  this  with  a  ring  of  her  old 
aristocratic  pride.  "Come,"  she  continued,  "I've  a 
nice  warm  breakfast  saved  for  you.  You  don't  know 
how  much  good  you  have  done  rne  in  my  lonely  life." 

"Dear  Mother!"  he  whispered,  pressing  her  hand. 

After  breakfast  he  went  to  his  office  and  read  over 
slowly  the  letters  he  had  received  from  Sallie,  kissed 
them  one  by  one,  tied  them  up  and  sent  them  to  her 
mother.  He  took  the  ring  out  of  his  pocket  and  locked 
it  in  one  of  his  drawers. 

"I  can't  work  to-day.  It's  no  use  trying!"  he 
muttered,  looking  out  of  his  window.  He  locked  his 
ofnce  and  started  downtown  with  no  purpose  except 
in  the  walk  to  try  to  fight  his  pain.  Instinctively  he 
found  his  way  to  Tom  Camp's  cottage. 

"Tom,  old  boy,  I'm  in  deep  water.  You've  been 
there.  I  just  want  to  feel  your  hand." 

Tom  was  clearing  up  his  kitchen  with  one  hand  and 
holding  the  other  tight  over  the  wound  near  his  spinal 
column.  He  suffered  untold  agonies  through  the  night 
and  was  suffering  yet,  but  he  never  mentioned  it. 

"You've  just  got  your  blues  again!"  Tom  laughed. 

"No;  a  devil  has  stabbed  me  in  the  back  in  the 
dark."  And  he  told  Tom  of  his  love  and  his  in 
explicable  trouble. 

"So,  so!"  Tom  mused  with  dancing  eyes.  "The 
General's  gal,  Miss  Sallie!  My,  my,  but  ain't  she  a 
beauty!  Next  to  my  own  little  gal  there  she's  the 
purtiest  thing  in  No'th  Caliny.  And  you're  her  sweet 
heart,  and  she  told  you  she  loved  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  wnat  ails  you?  Man,  to  hear  that  from  such 
lips  as  she's  got's  music  enough  for  a  year.  You  want 


The  Mystery  of  Pain  307 

the  whole  regimental  band  to  be  playin*  all  the  time. 
If  she  loves  you,  that's  enough  now  to  give  you  nerve 
to  fight  all  earth  and  hell  combined."  Tom  urged  this 
with  an  enthusiasm  that  admitted  no  reply. 

Flora  had  climbed  in  his  lap,  and  was  going  through 
his  pockets  to  find  some  candy. 

"You  didn't  bring  me  a  bit  this  time!"  she  cried, 
reproachfulty. 

"Honey,  I  forgot  it,"  he  apologised. 

"I  don't  believe  you  love  me  any  more,  Charlie," 
she  declared,  placing  her  hands  on  his  cheeks  and  looking 
steadily  into  his  eyes.  "Am  I  your  sweetheart  yet?" 

"Of  course,  dearie,  and  about  the  only  one  I  can 
depend  on." 

"  La,  Charlie,  your  eyes  are  red  ! "  she  cried,  in  surprise. 
"Do  you  cry?" 

"Sometimes,  when  my  heart  gets  too  full." 

"Then  I'll  kiss  the  red  away  ! "  she  said,  as  she  softly 
kissed  his  eyes. 

"That's  good,  Flora.     It  will  make  them  better." 

"Now,  Pappy,"  she  said,  triumphantly,  "you  say  I'm 
getting  too  big  to  cry,  and  I  ain't  but  eleven  years  old, 
and  Charlie's  big  as  you  and  he  cries." 

Tom  took  her  in  his  arms  and  smoothed  his  hand 
over  her  fair  hair  with  a  tenderness  that  had  in 
its  trembling  touch  all  the  mystery  of  both  mother 
and  father  love  in  which  his  brooding  soul  had 
wrapped  her. 

Gaston  returned  home  with  lighter  step.  He  met, 
as  he  crossed  the  square,  the  Preacher,  who  was  waiting 
for  him. 

"Come  here  and  sit  down  a  minute.  I've  heard  of 
your  trouble.  You  have  my  sympathy.  But  you'll 
come  out  all  right.  The  oak  that's  bent  by  the  storm 
makes  a  fiber  fit  for  a  ship's  rib.  You  can't  make  steel 


308  The  Leopard's  Spots 

without  white  heat.  God's  just  trying  your  temper, 
boy,  to  see  if  there's  anything  in  you.  When  he  has 
tried  you  in  the  fire,  and  the  pure  gold  shines,  he  will 
call  you  to  higher  things." 

Gaston  nodded  his  assent  to  this  saying.  "And  yet, 
Doctor,  none  of  us  like  the  touch  of  fire  or  the  smell  of 
the  smoke  of  our  clothes." 

"You  are  right.  But  it's  good  for  the  soul.  You 
are  learning  now  that  we  must  face  things  that  we  don't 
like  in  this  world.  I  am  older  than  you.  I  will  tell 
you  something  that  you  can't  really  know  until  you  have 
lived  through  this.  Love  seems  to  you  at  this  time  the 
only  thing  in  the  world.  But  it  is  not.  My  deepest 
sympathy  is  with  Sallie.  She's  already  pure  gold.  To 
such  a  woman  love  is  the  center  of  gravity  of  all  life. 
This  is  not  true  of  a  strong,  normal  man.  The  center 
of  gravity  of  a  strong  man's  life  as  a  whole  is  not  in  love 
and  the  emotions,  but  in  justice  and  intellect  and  their 
expression  in  the  wider  social  relations." 

"And  that  means  that  I  must  brace  up  for  this 
political  fight?" 

"Exactly  so.  And  it's  the  best  thing  you  can  do  for 
your  love.  Become  a  power  and  you  can  coerce  even  a 
man  of  the  General's  character." 

"You  are  right,  Doctor.  I  had  my  mind  about  fixed 
on  that  course." 

i  "  You  will  find  the  County  Committee  in  session  in  the 
Clerk's  office  there  now.  They  want  to  see  you.  I 
tell  you  to  fight  this  coalition  of  McLeod  and  the  farmers 
every  inch  up  to  the  last  hour  it  is  formed,  and  if  McLeod 
wins  them  and  the  alliance  is  made,  then  fight  to  break 
it  every  day  and  every  hour  and  every  minute  till  the 
votes  are  counted  out." 

Gaston  went  at  once  into  the  consultation  with  the 
Democratic  County  committee. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
IS    GOD    OMNIPOTENT? 

AS  Gaston  left  the  Preacher,  the  Reverend  Ephraim 
Fox  approached.  He  was  the  pastor  of  the 
Negro  Baptist  church,  and  had  succeeded  old 
Uncle  Josh  at  his  death  ten  years  before. 

He  bowed  deferentially,  and,  hat  in  hand,  stood  close 
to  the  seat  on  which  Durham  was  still  resting. 

"How  dis  you  doan'  come  down  ter  our  chu'ch  en 
preach  fur  us  no  mo',  Br'er  Durham  ?  We  been  er  havin' 
powerful  times  down  dar  lately,  en  de  folks  wants  you 
ter  come  en  preach  some  mo'." 

"I  can't  do  it,  Eph." 

"What  de  matter,  Preacher?  We  ain't  hu't  yo' 
feelin's,  is  we?" 

"No,  not  in  a  personal  way;  but  you've  got  beyond 
me." 

"How's  dat?"  asked  Ephraim,  rolling  his  eyes. 

"Well,  as  long  as  I  preach  to  your  folks  about  heaven 
and  the  glory  beyond  this  world  they  shout  and  sweat 
and  sing.  And  when  I  jump  on  the  old  sinners  in  the, 
Bible,  they  are  in  glee.  They  like  to  see  the  fur  fly. 
But  the  minute  I  pounce  on  them  about  stealing  and 
lying  and  drinking  and  lust — they  don't  want  to 
furnish  any  of  the  fur." 

"De  Lawd,  Preacher,  hit's  des  de  same  wid  de  white 
folks !"  urged  Ephraim,  with  a  wink. 

"That's  so.  But  the  difference  is  your  people  talk 
back  at  me  after  the  meeting." 

"How's  dat?"  Ephraim  repeated. 

309 


3io  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"  Whv,  when  I  preach  righteousness  and  judgment  on 
the  thief,  and  accuse  them  of  stealing,  I  lose  my  wood 
and  my  corn  and  my  chickens." 

Ephraim  was  silent  a  moment  and  then  he  smiled  as 
he  said: 

"Preacher,  dey  ain't  er  nigger  in  dis  town  doan' 
lub  you." 

"Yes,  I  know  it.  That's  why  they  steal  from  me 
so  much." 

"Go  'long  wid  yo'  fun!"  roared  Ephraim.  "You 
know  you  ain't  gone  back  on  us  des'  cause  some 
nigger  tuck  er  stick  er  wood — dey's  sumfin'  else — you 
cain'  fool  me." 

"Well,  you  are  right;  that  isn't  the  main  reason. 
There  are  others.  You  turned  a  man  out  of  your  church 
for  voting  the  Democratic  ticket." 

"Yes;  but  Preacher,"  interrupted  Eph,  impatiently, 
"dat  wuz  er  low-down,  mena  nigger.  He  didn't  hab  no 
salvation  nohow!" 

"Then  you  keep  a  deacon  in  your  church  who  served 
two  terms  in  the  penitentiary." 

"But  dat's  de  bes'  deacon  I  got,"  pleaded  Eph,  sadly. 

"Turn  him  out,  I  tell  you." 

"But  dey  all  does  little  tings." 

"Turn  'em  all  out." 

"Den  we  ain't  got  no  chu'ch,  en  de  shepherd  ain't  got 
no  flock  ter  tend,  er  ter  shear.  You  des  splain  how  de 
Lawd  temper  de  win'  ter  de  shorn  lam'.  Den  ef  I  doan' 
shear  'em,  de  win'  mought  blow  too  hard  on  'em.  En 
ef  I  doan'  keep  'em  in  de  pen,  how  kin  I  shear  'em?  I 
axes  you  dat?" 

The  Preacher  smiled  and  continued,  "Then  I've  heard 
some  ugly  things  about  you,  Eph,"  suddenly  darting  a 
piercing  look  straight  into  his  face. 

"Who,  me?" 


Is  God  Omnipotent?  311 

"Yes,  you.  And  I  can't  afford  to  go  into  the  pulpit 
with  you  any  more.  In  the  old  slavery  days  you  were 
taught  the  religion  of  Christ.  It  didn't  mean  crime 
and  lust  and  lying  and  drinking,  whatever  it  meant, 
Your  religion  has  come  to  be  a  stench.  You  are  getting 
lower  and  lower.  You  will  be  governed  by  no  one.  I 
can't  use  force.  I  leave  you  alone.  You  have  gone 
beyond  me." 

"But  de  Lawd  lub  a  sinner,  en  his  mercy  enduref 
foreber ! "  solemnly  grumbled  Ephraim. 

"In  the  old  days,"  persisted  the  Preacher,  "I  used 
to  preach  to  your  people.  I  saw  before  me  many  men 
of  character:  carpenters,  bricklayers,  wheelwrights, 
farmers,  faithful  home  servants  that  loved  their  masters 
and  were  faithful  unto  death.  Now  I  see  a  cheap  lot 
of  thieves  and  jailbirds  and  trifling  women  seated  in 
high  places.  You  have  shown  no  power  to  stand  alone 
on  the  solid  basis  of  character." 

"YThy,  Br'er  Durham,"  urged  Eph,  in  an  injured 
voice,  "I  baptised  inter  de  kingdom  over  a  hundred 
precious  souls  las'  year." 

"Yes,  but  what  they  needed  was  not  a  baptism  of 
water.  You  Negroes  need  a  racial  baptism  into  truth , 
integrity,  virtue,  self-restraint,  industry,  courage, 
patience  and  purity  of  manhood  and  womanhood.  I 
used  to  be  hopeful  about  you,  but  I'd  just  as  well 
be  frank  with  you — I've  given  you  up.  I've  said 
the  grace  of  God  was  sufficient  for  all  problems.  I 
don't  know  now.  I'm  getting  older  and  it  grows 
darker  to  me.  I  have  come  to  believe  there  are 
some  things  God  Almighty  cannot  do.  Can  God  make 
a  stone  so  big  He  can't  lift  it  ?  In  either  event,  He  is 
not  omnipotent.  It  looks  like  He  did  just  that  thing 
when  He  made  the  Negro.  Leave  me  out  of  your 
calculation,  Ephraim." 


312  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"Mils'  gib  de  nigger  time,  Preacher!"  Eph  muttered, 
as  he  walked  slowly  away. 

When  Gaston  emerged  from  the  court-house  the 
Preacher  joined  him  and  they  walked  home  to  the 
hotel  together. 

"What  did  the  two  farmers  on  your  committee  think 
of  the  chances  of  preventing  the  Alliance  from  joining 
the  Negroes?" 

"  Not  much  of  them.  They  say  we  can't  do  anything 
with  them  when  the  test  comes,  unless  we  will  indorse 
their  scheme  of  issuing  money  on  corn  and  pumpkins 
and  potatoes  storea  in  a  government  barn.  If  it  comes 
to  that,  I  will  not  prostitute  my  intellect  by  advocating 
any  such  measure  on  the  floor  of  our  convention.  We 
stand  for  one  thing  at  least,  the  supremacy  of  Anglo- 
Saxon  civilisation.  I  had  rather  be  beaten  by  the 
Negroes  and  their  allies  this  time  on  such  an  issue." 

"But,  my  boy,  if  McLeod  and  his  Negroes  get  control 
of  this  state  for  four  years,  they  can  so  corrupt  its  laws 
and  its  electorate  they  may  hold  it  a  quarter  of  a  century. 
We  must  fight  to  the  last  ditch." 

"I  draw  the  line  at  pumpkin  leaves  for  money," 
insisted  Gaston. 

It  was  but  ten  days  to  the  meeting  of  the  Democratic 
state  convention,  and  they  were  coming  together 
divided  in  opinion  and  at  sea  as  to  their  policy,  with 
a  united  militant  Farmers'  Alliance  demanding  the 
uprooting  of  the  foundations  of  the  economic  world, 
and  a  hundred  thousand  Negro  voters  grinning  at  this 
opportunity  to  strike  their  white  foes,  while  McLeod 
stood  in  the  background  smiling  over  the  certainty  of 
his  triumph. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
THE    WAYS    OF   BOSTON 

WHEN  Helen  Lowell  reached  Boston  from  her 
visit  with  Sallie  Worth  she  found  her  father 
in  the  midst  of  his  political  campaign.  The 
Honourable  Everett  Lowell  was  the  representative  of 
Congress  from  the  Boston  Highlands  district.  His 
home  was  an  old-fashioned  white  Colonial  house  built 
during  the  American  Revolution. 

He  was  not  a  man  of  great  wealth,  but  well-to-do,  a 
successful  politician,  enthusiastic  student,  a  graduate 
of  Harvard,  and  he  had  always  made  a  specialty  of 
championing  the  cause  of  the  "freedmen."  He  was  a 
chronic  proposer  of  a  military  force  bill  for  the  South. 

His  family  was  one  of  the  proudest  in  America.  He 
had  a  family  tree  five  hundred  years  old — an  unbroken 
line  of  unconquerable  men  who  held  liberty  dearer  than 
life.  He  believed  in  the  heritage  of  good,  honest  blood  as 
he  believed  in  blooded  horses.  His  home  was  furnished 
in  perfect  taste,  with  beautiful  old  rosewood  and 
mahogany  stuff  that  had  both  character  and  history. 
On  the  walls  hung  the  stately  portraits  of  his  ancestors, 
representative  of  three  hundred  years  of  American  life. 
He  never  confused  his  political  theories  about  the  abstract 
rights  of  the  African  with  his  personal  choice  of  associates 
or  his  pride  in  his  Anglo-Saxon  blood.  With  him 
politics  was  one  thing,  society  another. 

His  pet  hobby,  which  combined  in  one  his  philanthropic 
ideals  and  his  practical  politics,  was  of  late  a  patronage 
he  had  extended  to  young  George  Harris,  the  bright 


314  The  Leopard's  Spots 

mulatto  son  of  Eliza  and  George  Harris,  whose  dramatic 
slave  history  had  made  their  son  famous  at  Harvard. 

This  young  Negro  was  a  speaker  of  fair  ability,  and 
was  accompanying  Lowell  on  his  campaign  tours  of  the 
district,  making  speeches  for  his  patron,  who  had 
obtained  for  him  a  clerk's  position  in  the  United  States 
Custom-House.  Harris  was  quite  a  drawing  card  at 
these  meetings.  He  had  a  natural  aptitude  for  politics; 
modest,  affable,  handsome  and  almost  white,  he  was  a 
fine  argument  in  himself  to  support  Lowell's  political 
theories,  who  used  him  for  all  he  was  worth  as  he  had 
at  the  previous  election. 

Harris  had  become  a  familiar  figure  at  Lowell's  home 
in  the  spacious  library,  where  he  had  the  free  use  of  the 
books,  and  frequently  he  dined  with  the  family,  when 
there  at  dinner  time  hard  at  work  on  some  political 
speech  or  some  study  for  a  piece  of  music. 

Lowell  had  met  his  daughter  at  the  depot  behind  his 
pair  of  Kentucky  thoroughbreds.  This  daughter,  his 
only  child,  was  his  pride  and  joy.  She  was  a  blonde 
beauty,  and  her  resemblance  to  her  father  was  remark 
able.  He  was  a  widower,  and  this  lovely  girl,  at  once 
the  incarnation  of  his  lost  love  and  so  fan'  a  reflection  of 
his  being,  had  ruled  him  with  absolute  sway  during  the 
past  few  years. 

He  was  laughing  like  a  boy  at  her  coming. 

"Ah,  my  beauty,  the  sight  of  your  face  gives  me  new 
life!"  he  cried,  smiling  with  love  and  admiration. 

"You  mustn't  try  to  spoil  me!"  she  laughed. 

"Did  you  really  have  a  good  time  in  Dixie?"  he 
whispered. 

"Papa,  such  a  time!"  she  exclaimed,  shutting  her 
eyes  as  though  she  were  trying  to  live  it  over  again. 

"Really?" 

"Beaux,  morning,  noon  and  night — dancing,  moon- 


The  Ways  of  Boston  315 

light  rides,  boats  gliding  along  the  beautiful  river  and 
mocking-birds  singing  softly  their  love-song  under  the 
window  all  night ! " 

"Well,  you  did  have  romance,"  he  declared. 

"  Yes,"  she  went  on,  "and such  people,  such  hospitality 
—I  feel  as  though  I  never  had  lived  before." 

"My  dear,  you  mustn't  desert  us  all  like  that,"  he 
protested! 

" I  can't  help  it;  I'm  a  rebel  now." 

"Then  keep  still  till  the  campaign's  over !"  he  warned, 
in  mock  fear. 

"And  the  boys  down  there,"  she  continued,  "they  are 
such  boys !  Time  doesn't  seem  to  be  an  object  with 
them  at  all.  Evidently  they  have  never  heard  of  our 
uplifting  Yankee  motto,  '  Time  is  money?  And  such 
knightly  deference,  such  charming,  old-fashioned, 
chivalrous  ways!" 

"But,  dear,  isn't  that  a  little  out  of  date?" 

"How  staid  and  proper  and  busy  Boston  seems!  I 
know  I  am  going  to  be  depressed  by  it." 

"I  know  what's  the  matter  with  you!"  he  whistled. 

"What?"  she  slyly  asked. 

"One  of  those  boys." 

"I  confess.     Papa,  he's  as  handsome  as  a  prince.'* 

"What  does  he  look  like?" 

"He  is  tall,  dark,  with  black  hair,  black  eyes,  slender, 
graceful,  all  fire  and  energy." 

"What's  his  name?" 

"St.  Clare — Robert  St.  Clare.  His  father  was  away 
from  home.  He's  a  politician,  I  think." 

"You  don't  say!  St.  Clare.  Well,  of  all  the  jokes  t 
His  father  is  my  Democratic  chum  in  the  House — an 
old  fire-eating  Bourbon,  but  a  capital  fellow." 

"Did  you  ever  see  him  f " 

"No,  but  I've  had  good  times  with  his  father.     He 


316  The  Leopard's  Spots 

used  to  own  a  hundred  slaves.  He's  a  royal  fellow,  and 
pretty  well  fixed  in  life  for  a  Southern  politician.  I 
don't  think,  though,  I  ever  saw  his  boy.  Anything 
really  serious?" 

"He  hasn't  said  a  word — but  he's  coming  to  see  me 
next  week." 

"Well,  things  are  moving,  I  must  say!" 

"Yes;  I  pretended  I  must  consult  you  before  telling 
him  he  could  come.  I  didn't  want  to  seem  too  anxious. 
I'm  half  afraid  to  let  him  wande*  about  Boston  much; 
there  are  too  many  girls  here." 

Her  father  laughed  proudly  and  looked  at  her.  "I 
hope  you  will  find  him  all  your  heart  most  desires,  and 
my  congratulations  on  your  first  love." 

"It  will  be  my  last,  too,"  she  answered,  seriously. 

"Ah,  you're  entirely  too  young  and  pretty  to 
say  that ! " 

"I  mean  it,"  she  said,  earnestly,  with  a  smile  trem 
bling  on  her  lips. 

Her  father  was  silent  and  pressed  her  hand  for  an 
answer.  As  they  entered  the  gate  of  the  home,  they 
met  young  Harris  coming  out  with  some  books  under 
his  arm.  He  bowed  gracefully  to  them  and  passed  on. 

"Oh,  Papa,  I  had  forgotten  all  about  your  fad  for 
that  young  Negro !" 

"Well,  what  of  it,  dear?" 

"You  love  me  very  much,  don't  you?"  she  asked, 
tenderly.  "I'm  going  to  ask  you  to  be  inconsistent, 
for  my  sake." 

"That's  easy.  I'm  often  that  for  nobody's  sake. 
Consistency  is  only  the  terror  of  weak  minds." 

"I'm  going  to  ask  you  to  keep  that  young  Negro  out 
of  the  house  when  my  Southern  friends  are  here.  After 
my  sweetheart  comes  I  expect  Sallie  and  her  mother.  I 
wouldn't  have  either  of  them  meet  him  here  in  our 


The  Ways  of  Boston  317 

library,  and  especially  in  our  dining-room,  for  anything 
on  earth." 

"Well,  you  have  joined  the  rebels,  haven't  you?" 

"You  know  I  never  did  like  Negroes  anyway,"  she 
continued.  "They  always  gave  me  the  horrors.  Young 
Harris 'is  a  scholarly  gentleman,  I  know.  He  is  good- 
looking,  talented,  and  I've  played  his  music  for  him 
sometimes  to  please  you,  but  I  can't  get  over  that  little 
kink  in  his  hair,  his  big  nostrils  and  full  lips,  and  when 
he  looks  at  me  it  makes  my  flesh  creep." 

"Certainly,  my  darling,  you  don't  need  to  coax  me. 
The  Lowells,  I  suspect,  know  by  this  time  what  is  due 
to  a  guest.  When  your  guests  come  our  home  and  our 
time  are  theirs.  If  eating  meat  offends  we  will  live  on 
herbs.  I'll  send  Harris  down  to  the  other  side  of  the 
district  and  keep  him  at  work  there  until  the  end  of 
fche  campaign.  My  slightest  wish  is  law  for  him." 

"You  see,  Papa,"  she  went  on,  "they  never  could 
understand  that  Negro's  ways  around  our  house,  and 
I  know  if  he  were  to  sit  down  at  our  table  with  them 
they  would  walk  out  of  the  dining-room  with  an  excuse 
of  illness  and  go  home  on  the  first  train." 

"And  yet,"  returned  her  father,  lifting  her  from  the 
carriage,  "their  homes  were  full  of  Negroes,  were  they 
not?" 

"Yes;  but  they  know  their  place.  I've  seen  those 
beautiful  Southern  children  kiss  their  old  black '  Mammy.' 
It  made  me  shudder,  until  I  discovered  they  did  it  just 
as  I  kiss  Fido." 

"  And  this  a  daughter  of  Boston,  the  home  of  Garrison 
and  Sumner!"  he  exclaimed. 

"I've  heard  that  Boston  mobbed  Garrison  once," 
she  observed. 

"Yes;  and  I  doubt  if  we  have  canonised  Sumner  yet. 
All  right.  If  you  say  so,  I'll  order  a  steam  calliope 


318  The  Leopard's  Spots 

stationed  at  the  gate  and  hire  a  man  to  play  'Dixie* 
for  you!" 

She  laughed  and  ran  up  the  steps. 

•  •  •••*• 

Sallie  determined  to  keep  the  secret  of  her  sorrow  in 
her  own  heart.  On  the  ocean  voyage  she  had  cried  the 
whole  first  day,  and  then  kissed  her  lover's  picture,  put 
it  down  in  the  bottom  of  her  trunk,  brushed  the  tears 
away,  and  determined  the  world  should  not  look  on 
her  suffering. 

She  had  written  Helen  of  her  lover's  declaration  and 
of  her  happiness.  She  would  find  a  good  excuse  for  her 
sorrowful  face  in  their  separation.  She  knew  he  would 
write  to  her,  for  he  had  said  so,  and  she  had  slipped  the 
address  into  his  hand  as  he  left  the  car  that  night. 

At  first  she  was  puzzled  to  think  what  she  could  do 
about  answering  these  letters  so  Helen  would  not 
suspect  her  trouble.  Then  she  hit  on  the  plan  of  writing 
to  him  every  day,  posting  the  letters  herself  and  placing 
them  in  her  own  trunk  instead  of  the  post-box. 

"He  will  read  them  some  day.  They  will  relieve  my 
heart,"  she  sadly  told  herself. 

Helen  met  her  on  the  pier  with  a  cry  of  girlish  joy, 
and  the  first  word  she  uttered  was: 

"Oh,  Sallie,  Bob  loves  me!  He's  been  here  two 
weeks,  and  he's  just  gone  home.  I  have  been  in  heaven  1 
We  are  engaged  !  " 

"Then  I'll  kiss  you  again,  Helen."  She  gave  her 
another  kiss. 

"And  I've  a  big  letter  at  home  for  you  already.  It's 
postmarked  'Hambright.'  It  came  this  morning.  I 
know  you  will  feast  on  it.  If  Bob  don't  write  me  faith 
fully  I'll  make  him  come  here  and  live  in  Boston." 

When  Sallie  got  this  letter  she  sat  down  in  her  room 
and  read  and  reread  its  passionate  words.  There  was  a 


The  Ways  of  Boston  319 

tone  of  bitterness  and  wounded  pride  in  it.  She 
struggled  bravely  to  keep  the  tears  back.  Then  the 
tone  of  the  letter  changed  to  tenderness  and  faith  and 
infinite  love  that  struggled  in  vain  for  utterance. 

She  kissed  the  name  and  sighed.  "Now  I  must  go 
down  and  chat  and  smile  with  Helen.  She's  so  silly 
about  her  own  love,  if  1  talk  about  Bob  she  wiU 
forget  I  live." 


CHAPTER  XIX 
THE  SHADOW  OF  A  DOUBT 

MRS.  WORTH  had  arrived  in  Boston  a  few  days 
after  Sallie,  coming  direct  by  rail.  She  was 
still  very  weak  from  her  recent  attack,  and  it 
cut  her  to  the  heart  to  watch  Sallie  write  those  letters 
faithfully  and  never  mail  them  out  of  deference  to 
her  wishes. 

One  night  she  drew  her  daughter  down  and  tenderly 
kissed  her. 

"  Sallie,  dear,  you  don't  know  how  it  hurts  me  to  see 
you  suffer  this  way,  and  write,  and  write  these  letters 
your  lover  never  sees.  You  may  send  him  one  letter  a 
week;  I  don't  care  what  the  General  says." 

There  was  a  sob  and  another  kiss,  and  Sallie  was 
crying  on  her  breast. 

In  answer  to  her  first  letter,  Gaston  was  thrilled  with 
a  new  inspiration.  He  sat  down  that  night  and  answered 
it  in  verse.  All  the  deep  longings  of  his  soul,  his  hopes 
and  fears,  his  pain  and  dreams  he  set  in  rhythmic 
music.  Her  mother  read  all  his  letters  after  Sallie. 
And  she  cried  with  sorrow  and  pride  over  this  poem. 

"Sallie,  I  don't  blame  you  for  being  proud  of  such  a 
lover.  Your  life  is  rich  hallowed  by  the  love  of  such  a 
man.  Your  father  is  wrong  in  his  position.  If  I  were 
a  girl  and  held  the  love  of  such  a  man  I'd  cherish  it  as 
I  would  my  soul's  salvation.  Be  patient  and  faithful." 

"Sweet  mother  heart!"  she  whispered,  as  she 
smoothed  the  gray  hair  tenderly. 

320 


The  Shadow  of  a  Doubt  321 

Allan  McLeod  had  arrived  in  Boston  the  day  before, 
and  the  .norning's  papers  were  full  of  an  interview  with 
him  on  his  brilliant  achievement  in  breaking  the  ranks 
of  the  Bourbon  Democracy  in  North  Carolina  and  the 
certainty  of  the  success  of  his  ticket  at  the  approaching 
election. 

McLeod  sent  the  paper  to  Mrs.  Worth  by  a  special 
messenger,  lest  she  might  not  see  it,  and  that  evening 
called.  He  asked  Sallie  to  accompany  him  to  the 
theatre,  and  when  she  refused  spent  the  evening. 

When  her  mother  had  retired  McLeod  drew  his  seat 
near  her  and  again  told  her  in  burning  words  his  love. 

"Miss  Sallie,  I  have  won  the  battle  of  life  at  its  very 
threshold.  I  shall  be  a  United  States  Senator  in  a  few 
months.  I  want  to  lead  you,  my  bride,  into  the  gallery 
of  the  Senate  before  J  walk  down  its  aisles  to  take  the 
oath.  I  have  loved  you  faithfully  for  years.  I  have 
your  father's  consent  to  my  suit.  I  asked  him  before 
leaving  on  this  trip.  Surely  you  will  not  say  no?" 

"Allan  McLeod,  I  do  not  love  you.  I  love  another. 
I  hate  the  sight  of  you  and  the  sound  of  your  voice." 

"If  you  do  not  marry  Gaston,  will  you  give  me 
a  chance?" 

"  If  I  do  not  marry  the  man  of  my  choice,  I  will  never 
marry." 

McLeod  returned  to  the  hotel  with  the  fury  of  the 
devil  seething  in  his  soul.  He  determined  to  return  to 
Hambright,  and  if  possible  entrap  Gaston  in  dissipation 
and  destroy  his  faith  in  Sallie's  loyalty. 

He  wrote  to  the  General  that  he  had  been  rejected  by 
his  daughter,  who  still  corresponded  with  Gaston.  When 
General  Worth  received  this  letter  he  wrote  in  wrath  to 
his  wife,  peremptorily  forbidding  Sallie  to  write  another 
line  to  Gaston,  and  closed,  saying: 

"I  had  trusted  this  matter  to  you,  my  dear;  now  I 


322  The  Leopard's  Spots 

take  it  out  of  your  hands.     I  forbid  another  line  or 
word  to  this  man." 

Gaston  "watched  and  waited  in  vain  for  the  letter  he 
was  to  receive  next  week.  Again  his  soul  sank  with 
doubt  and  fear.  What  fiend  was  striking  him  with  an 
unseen  hand  ?  He  felt  he  should  choke  with  rage  as  he 
thought  of  the  infamy  of  such  a  warfare. 

His  mother  said  to  him  shortly  after  McLeod's 
arrival,  "Charlie,  I  have  some  bad  news  for  you." 

"It  can't  be  any  worse  than  I  have — the  misery  of 
an  unexplained  silence  of  two  weeks." 

"  I  feel  that  I  ought  to  tell  you.  It  is  the  explanation 
of  that  silence,  I  fear." 

"What  is  it,  Mother?"  he  asked,  soberly, 

"I  hear  that  Sallie  has  plunged  into  frivolous  .c  .ciety, 
is  dancing  every  night  at  the  hotel  at  Narr  gansett 
Pier,  where  they  are  stopping  now,  and  flirting  with  a 
half-dozen  young  men." 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  growled  Gaston. 

"I'm  afraid  it's  true,  Charlie,  and  I'm  furious  with 
her  for  treating  you  like  this.  I  thought  she  had  more 
character." 

"I'll  love  and  trust  her  to  the  end!"  he  declared,  as 
he  went  moodily  to  his  office.  But  the  poison  of  sus 
picion  rankled  in  his  thoughts.  Why  had  she  ceased  to 
write  ?  Was  not  this  mask  of  society  a  habit  with  those  ' 
who  had  learned  to  wear  it  ?  Was  not  habit,  after  all, 
life  ?  Could  one  ever  escape  it  ?  It  seemed  to  him 
more  than  probable  that  the  old  habits  should  reassert 
themselves  in  such  a  crisis,  a  thousand  miles  removed 
from  him  or  his  personal  influence.  He  held  a  very 
exaggerated  idea  of  the  corruption  of  modern  society. 
And  his  heart  grew  heavier  from  day  to  day  •with  the 
feeling  that  she  was  slipping  away  from  him. 


CHAPTER  XX 
A  NEW  LESSON  IN  LOVE 

McLEOD  returned  home  to  find  his  plans  of 
political  success  in  perfect  order.  The  pro 
gramme  went  through  without  a  hitch.  In 
spite  of  the  most  desperate  efforts  of  the  Democrats  he 
carried  the  state  by  a  large  majority  and  made,  for  the 
Republican  party  and  its  strange  allies,  the  first  breach 
in  the  solid  phalanx  of  Democratic  supremacy  since 
Legree  left  his  legacy  of  corruption  and  terror. 

The  Legislature  elected  two  Senators.  To  the 
amazement  of  the  world,  the  day  before  the  caucus  of 
the  Republicans  met,  McLeod  withdrew.  He  had  no 
opposition  so  far  as  anybody  knew,  but  a  curious  thing 
had  happened.  The  Reverend  John  Durham  discovered 
the  fact  that  McLeod  kept  r,  still  and  had  established 
his  mother  as  an  illicit  distiller  years  before.  One  of 
his  deputies,  who  had  become  an  inebriate,  confessed 
this  to  the  Doctor,  who  had  informed  the  Preacher. 

The  Preacher  put  this  important  piece  of  information 
into  the  hands  of  a  daiing  young  Republican  who  had 
always  been  one  from  principle.  He  went  to  Raleigh 
and  interviewed  McLeod.  At  first  McLeod  denied 
and  blustered  and  swore.  When  confronted  with  the 
proofs,  he  gave  up  and  asked,  sullenly: 

"What  do  you  want?" 

"Get  out  of  the  race." 

"All  right.     Is  that  all?     You're  on  top." 

"No;  give  me  the  nomination." 

"  Never  I"  he  yelled,  with  an  oath. 

323 


324  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"Then  I'll  expose  you  in  to-morrow  morning's 
paper  and  that's  the  end  of  you." 

McLeod  hesitated  a  moment  and  then  said: " I'll  agree. 
You've  got  me.  But  I'll  make  one  little  condition.  You 
must  give  me  the  name  of  your  informant." 

"The  Reverend  John  Durham." 

"I   thought   as   much." 

To  the  amazement  of  every  one,  McLeod  waived 
the  crown  and  placed  it  on  the  head  of  one  of  his  lieu 
tenants.  He  returned  to  Hambright  from  this  dramatic 
event  v/ith  an  unruffled  front.  To  his  cronies  he  said: 
"  Bah  !  I  was  joking.  Never  had  any  idea  of  taking  the 
office  for  myself.  I'm  playing  for  larger  stakes.  I  make 
these  puppets  and  pull  the  strings." 

He  devoted  himself  assiduously  in  the  leisure  which 
followed  to  Mrs.  Durham.  He  never  intimated  to 
Durham  that  he  knew  anything  about  the  part  he  had 
taken  in  his  withdrawal  from  the  Senatorship.  Nor  had 
the  Preacher  told  his  wife  of  his  discovery.  They  had 
quarrelled  several  times  about  McLeod.  His  wife 
seemed  determined  to  remain  loyal  to  the  boy  she 
had  taught. 

McLeod  in  his  talk  with  her  intimated  that  he  had 
withdrawn  from  a  desire  vaguely  forming  in  his  mind  to 
get  out  of  the  filth  of  politics  altogether,  sooner  or  later, 
influenced  by  her  voice  alone. 

With  subtle  skill  he  played  upon  her  vanity  and  jeal 
ousy,  and  at  last  felt  that  he  had  entangled  her  so  far 
he  could  dare  a  declaration  of  his  feelings.  There  was 
one  element  only  in  her  mental  make-up  he  feared.  She 
held  tenaciously  the  old-fashioned  romantic  ideals  of 
love.  To  her  it  seemed  a  divine  mystery  linking  the  soul 
that  felt  it  to  the  infinite.  If  he  could  only  destroy  this 
divine  mystery  idea,  he  felt  sure  that  her  sense  of  isola 
tion  and  her  proud  rebellion  against  the  disap- 


A  New  Lesson  in  Love  325 

pointments  of  life  would  make  her  an  easy  prey  to  his 
blandishments. 

He  searched  his  library  over  for  a  book  that  could 
scientifically  demonstrate  the  purely  physical  basis  of 
love.  He  knew  that  somewhere  in  his  studies  at  a 
medical  college  in  New  York  he  had  read  it. 

At  last  he  discovered  it  among  a  lot  of  old  magazines. 
It  was  a  brief  study  by  a  great  physician  of  Paris, 
entitled  "The  Natural  History  of  Love."  He  gave  it  to 
her,  and  asked  her  to  read  it  and  give  him  her  candid 
opinion  of  its  philosophy. 

He  waited  a  week  and  on  a  Saturday  when  the 
Preacher  was  absent  at  one  of  his  county  mission 
stations  he  called  at  the  hotel  for  a  long  afternoon's 
talk.  He  determined  to  press  his  suit. 

"Do  you  know,  Mrs.  Durham,  what  gives  a  preacher 
his  boasted  power  of  the  spirit  over  his  audiences  ?  "  he 
inquired  with  a  curious  laugh,  in  the  midst  of  which  he 
changed  his  tone  of  voice. 

"  No.  You  are  an  expert  on  the  diseases  of  preachers; 
what  is  it?  " 

"Very  simple.  Religion  is  founded  on  love.  There 
never  was  a  magnetic  preacher  who  was  not  a  resistless 
magnet  for  scores  of  magnetic  women.  If  you  don't  be 
lieve  it,  watch  how  resistless  is  the  impulse  of  all  these 
good-looking  women  to  shake  hands  with  their  preacher, 
and  how  fondly  they  look  at  him  across  the  pews  if  the 
crowd  is  too  dense  to  reach  his  hand." 

A  frown  passed  over  her  face,  and  she  winced  at  the 
thrust,  yet  her  answer  was  a  surprising  question  to  him: 

"Do  you  really  believe  in  anything,  Allan?  " 

"You  ask  that?"  he  said,  leaning  closer.  "You 
whose  great,  dark  eyes  look  through  a  man's  very  soul  ?  " 

"  I  begin  to  think  I  have  never  seen  yours.  I  doubt  if 
you  have  a  soul." 


326  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"Well,  what's  the  use  of  a  soul?  I  can't  satisfy  the 
wants  of  my  body." 

"  Answer  my  question.    Do  you  believe  in  anything  ?  " 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  his  voice  sinking  to  a  tense  whisper  v 
"I  believe  in  Woman — in  love." 

"In  Woman?" 

"Yes,  Woman." 

44  You  mean  women,"  she  sneered. 

He  started  at  her  answer,  looked  intently  at  her,  and 
said  deliberately: 

"  I  mean  you,  the  One  Woman,  the  only  woman  in  the 
world  to  me." 

"I  do  not  believe  one  word  you  have  uttered,  yet  I 
confess  with  shame  you  have  always  fascinated  me." 

"Why  with  shame?  You  have  but  one  life  to  live. 
The  years  pass.  Even  beauty  so  rare  as  yours  fades  at 
last.  The  end  is  the  grave  and  worms.  Why  dash  from 
your  beautiful  lips  the  cup  of  life  when  it  is  full  to  the 
brim?" 

"How  skilfully  you  echo  the  dark  thoughts  that  flit 
on  devil  wings  through  the  soul,  when  we  feel  the  bitter 
ness  of  life's  failure,  its  contradictions  and  mysteries  !  " 
she  exclaimed,  closing  her  eyes  for  a  moment  and  leaning 
back  in  her  chair. 

"You've  often  talked  to  me  about  the  necessity  of 
some  sort  of  slavery  for  the  Negro  if  he  remain  in 
America.  I  begin  to  believe  that  slavery  is  a  necessity 
for  all  women." 

"I  fail  to  see  it,  sir." 

"All  women  are  born  slaves  and  choose  to  remain  so 
through  life.  It  is  curious  to  see  you,  a  proud,  imperious 
woman,  born  of  a  race  of  unconquerable  men,  staggering 
to-day  under  the  chains  of  four  thousand  years  of  con 
ventional  laws  made  by  the  brute  strength  of  men. 
And  you,  if  you  struggle  at  all,  beat  your  wings  against 


A  New  Lesson  in  Love  327 

the  bars  that  the  slave-holding  male  brute  has  built  about 
your  soul,  fall  back  at  last  and  give  up  to  the  will  of  your 
master.  This,  too,  when  you  hold  in  your  simple  will 
the  key  that  would  unlock  your  prison  door  and  make 
yon  free.  It's  a  pitiful  sight." 

"  How  shrewd  a  tempter  !  " 

"There  you  are  again.  He  who  dares  to  tell  you  that 
you  are  of  yourself  a  living  human  being,  divinely  free, 
is  a  tempter  from  the  devil.  You  are  thinking  about 
eternity.  Well,  now  is  eternity.  Live,  stand  erect,  take 
a  deep  breath,  and  dare  to  be  yourself  and  do  what  you 
please.  That  is  what  I  do.  The  future  is  a  myth." 

"Yes,  I  know  the  freedom  of  which  you  boast,"  she 
quietly  observed,  "it  is  the  freedom  of  lust.  The  return 
to  nature  you  dream  of  is  simply  the  fall  downward  into 
the  dirt  out  of  which  a  rational  and  spiritual  manhood 
has  grown.  I  feel  and  know  this  in  spite  of  your  hand 
some  face  and  the  fine  ring  of  your  voice." 

"Dirt!  Dirt!"  he  mused.  "Yes,  I  was  in  the  dirt 
once,  was  born  in  it,  the  dirt  of  poverty  and  superstition 
and  fears  of  laws  here  and  hereafter.  But  I  awoke  at 
last  and  shook  it  off,  washed  myself  in  knowledge  and 
stood  erect.  I  am  a  man  now,  with  the  eye  of  a  king, 
conscious  of  my  power,  I  look  a  lying,  hypocritical 
world  in  the  face.  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  live  my 
own  life  in  spite  of  fools,  and  in  spite  of  the  laws  and 
conventions  of  fools." 

"And  yet  I  believe  you  carry  a  horse-chestnut  in  your 
pocket,  and  will  not  undertake  an  important  work  on 
Friday?"  she  returned. 

"But  I  never  strangle  a  normal  impulse  of  my 
nature  that  I  can  satisfy.  I  am  not  that  big  a  fool, 
at  least." 

She  was  silent,  and  then  said,  "  I  can  never  thank  you 
enough  for  the  book  you  sent  me." 


328  The  Leopard's  Spots 

McLeod  sighed  in  relief  at  her  change  of  tone.  After 
all,  she  was  just  tantalising  him. 

"Then  you  liked  it?  "  he  cried,  with  glittering  eyes. 

"I  devoured  every  word  of  it  with  a  greed  you  can 
not  understand.  A  great  man  wrote  it." 

"Then  we  can  understand  each  other  better  from 
to-day,"  he  interrupted,  smilingly. 

"Yes,  far  better.  You  gave  me  this  book  hoping  that 
it  might  influence  my  character  by  destroying  my  ideal 
of  love,  didn't  you — now  frankly?  " 

"Honestly,  I  did  hope  it  would  emancipate  you  from 
superstitions." 

"  It  has,"  she  declared,  but  with  a  curious  curve  of  her 
lip  that  chilled  him. 

"What  are  you  driving  at?  "  he  asked,  suspiciously. 

"This  book  has  given  me  the  key  that  unlocked  for  me, 
for  the  first  time,  the  riddle  of  my  physical  being.  It 
has  shown  me  the  physical  basis  of  love,  just  as  I  knew 
before  there  was  a  physical  basis  of  the  soul." 

"What  did  you  understand  the  book  to  teach?  "  he 
asked. 

"Simply  that  love  is  based  in  its  material  life  on  the 
lobe  of  the  brain  which  develops  at  the  base  of  a  child's 
head  near  the  age  of  thirteen.  That  this  lobe  of  the  brain 
is  the  sex  center,  and  love  is  impossible  until  it  develops. 
That  this  center  of  new  powers  at  the  base  of  the  skull 
is  a  physical  magnet.  That  when  a  man  and  woman 
approach  each  other,  who  are  by  nature  mates,  these 
magnetic  centers  are  disturbed  by  action  and  reaction, 
and  that  this  disturbance  develops  the  second  elemental 
passion  called  love.  The  first  elemental  passion,  hunger, 
has  for  its  end  the  preservation  of  the  individual ;  while 
love  finds  its  fulfillment  in  the  preservation  of  the 
species.  Love  finds  its  satisfaction  in  the  child,  its 
ardour  cools,  and  it  dies,  unless  kept  alive  by  the  social 


A  New  Lesson  in  Love  329 

conventions  of  the  family,  which  are  not  based  merely 
on  this  violent  emotion,  but  also  on  unity  of  tastes, 
which  produce  the  sense  of  comra'deship.  For  these 
reasons  it  is  possible  to  fall  violently  in  love  more  than 
once,  and  there  are  dozens  of  people  who  possess  this 
magnetic  power  over  us  and  would  respond  to  it  violently 
if  we  only  came  in  social  contact  with  them.  That  the 
romantic  bombast  about  the  possibility  of  but  one  love 
in  life,  and  that  of  supernatural  origin,  is  twaddle,  and 
leads  to  false  ideals.  Have  I  given  the  argument  ?  " 

"Exactly.     But  what  do  you  deduce  from  it  ?  " 

"Freedom." 

"Good!  "  he  cried,  licking  his  lips. 

"Freedom  from  superstitions  about  love,"  she  an 
swered,  "and  positive  knowledge  of  its  elemental  beauty 
which  Nature  reveals.  In  short,  I  no  longer  wonder  and 
brood  over  your  charm  for  me.  I  know  exactly  what  it 
means,  and  how  it  might  occur  again  and  again  with 
another  and  another.  I  have  simply  throttled  it  in  a 
moment  by  an  act  of  my  will,  based  on  this  knowledge." 

"You  amaze  me  !  " 

"No  doubt.  One's  character  centers  in  the  soul,  or 
the  appetites.  Mine  is  in  the  soul ;  yours  in  the  appetites. 
I  see  you  to-day  as  you  really  are,  and  I  loathe  you  with 
an  unspeakable  loathing.  You  have  opened  my  eyes 
with  this  beautiful  little  book  of  Nature.  I  thank  you. 
Your  scientist  has  convinced  me  that  there  are  possibly 
a  hundred  men  in  the  world  who  would  affect  me  as  you 
do,  were  we  to  meet.  And  when  I  looked  back  into  the 
sweet  face  of  my  dead  boy,  I  learned  another  truth,  that 
in  the  union  of  my  first  great  love  I  was  bound  in  mar 
riage,  not  simply  by  a  social  convention  or  a  state  con 
tract,  but  for  life  by  Nature's  eternal  law.  The  period 
of  infancy  of  one  child  extends  over  twenty-one  years, 
covering  the  whole  maternal  life  of  the  woman  who  mar- 


330  The  Leopard's  Spots 

ries  at  the  proper  age  of  twenty-four.  This  union  of  one 
man  and  one  woman  never  seemed  so  sacred  to  me  a? 
now.  It  is  Nature's  law;  it  is  God's  law." 

McLeod's  anger  was  fast  rising. 

"Don't  fool  yourself,"  he  sneered.  "You  may  over 
work  your  maternal  intuitions.  You  remember  the  kiss 
you  gave  me  when  a  boy  just  fifteen?  Well,  you  fooled 
yourself  then  about  its  maternal  quality.  The  magnet 
of  my  red  head  drew  your  coal  black  one  down  to  it  with 
irresistible  power." 

"Perhaps  so,  Allan.  Your  work  is  done.  There  is 
the  door.  I  say  a  last  good-by,  with  pity  for  your 
shallow  nature  and  the  bitter  revelation  you  have 
given  me  of  your  worthlessness." 

Without  another  word  he  left,  but  with  a  dark  resolu 
tion  of  slander  with  which  he  would  tarnish  her  name 
and  wring  the  Preacher's  heart  with  anguish. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

WHY  THE  PREACHER  THREW  HIS  LIFE  AWAY 

WHILE  Mrs.  Worth  and  Sallie  were  still  in  the 
North,  the  Reverend  John  Durham  received 
a  unanimous  call  to  the  pastorate  of  one  of 
the  most  powerful  Baptist  churches  in  Boston,  with  a 
salary  of  five  thousand  dollars  a  year.     He  was  receiving 
a  salary  of  nine  hundred  dollars  at  Hambright,  which 
could  boast  at  most  a  population  of  two  thousand.     He 
declined  the  call  by  return  mail. 

The  committee  were  thunderstruck  at  thi  quick 
adverse  decision,  refused  to  consider  it  final,  and  wrote 
him  a  long,  urgent  letter  of  protest  against  such  ill- 
considered  treatment.  They  urged  that  he  must  come 
to  Boston  and  preach  one  Sunday,  at  least,  in  answer 
to  their  generous  offer,  before  rendering  a  final  decision. 
He  consented  to  do  so,  and  went  to  Boston.  He  sought 
Sallie  the  day  after  his  arrival. 

"Ah,  my  beautiful  daughter  of  the  South,  it's  good  to 
see  you  shining  here  in  the  midst  of  the  splendours  of 
the  Hub,  the  fairest  of  them  all !  "  he  said,  shaking  her 
hand  feelingly. 

"You  mean  pining,  not  shining,"  she  protested. 

"That's  better  still.  I  knew  your  heart  was  in  the 
tight  place." 

"How  is  he,  Doctor?  "  she  asked. 

"He's  trying  to  pull  himself  together  with  his  work, 
and  succeeding.  The  shock  of  a  great  sorrow  has 
steadied  his  nerves  and  broadened  his  sympathies, 
and  it  will  make  him  a  man." 

331 


332  The  Leopard's  Spots 

A  look  of  longing  came  over  her  face.  "I  don't  want 
him  to  be  too  strong  without  me,"  she  faltered. 

"Never  fear.  He's  so  despondent  at  times  I  have  to 
try  to  laugh  him  out  of  countenance." 

She  smiled  and  pressed  his  hand  for  answer  as  he  rose 
to  go. 

"  How  do  you  like  these  Yankees,  Miss  Sallie  ?  " 

"I've  been  surprised  and  charmed  beyond  measure 
with  everything  I've  seen." 

"You  don't  say  so!     How?" 

"Well,  I  thought  they  were  cold-blooded  and  inhospi 
table.  I  never  made  a  more  foolish  mistake.  I  have 
never  been  more  at  home  or  been  treated  more  graciously 
in  the  South.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  they  seem  like  our 
most  cultured  people  at  home,  warm-hearted,  cordial, 
sensible  and  neighbourly.  Mamma  is  so  pleased  she's 
trying  to  claim  kin  with  the  Puritans  through  her 
Scotch  Covenanter  ancestry." 

"After  all,  I  believe  you  are  right.  I  never  preached 
in  my  life  to  so  sensitive  an  audience.  There's  an  at 
mosphere  of  solid  comfort,  good  sense  and  intelligence 
here  that  holds  me  in  a  spell.  This  is  the  place  in  which 
I've  dreamed  I'd  like  to  live  and  work." 

"Then  you  will  accept,  Doctor?  " 

"Now  listen  to  you,  child!  Don't  you  think  I've  a 
heart,  too?  My  brain  and  body  longs  for  such  a  home, 
but  my  heart's  down  South  with  mine  own  people  who 
love  and  need  me." 

The  committee  did  their  best  to  bring  the  Preacher 
to  a  favourable  decision  at  once,  but  he  smiled  a  firm 
refusal.  They  refused  to  report  it,  to  the  church,  and 
sent  Deacon  Crane,  now  a  venerable  man  of  seventy-six, 
the  warmest  admirer  of  the  Preacher  among  them  all,  to 
Hambright.  They  authorised  him  to  make  an  amazing 
offer  of  salary,  if  that  would  be  an  inducement. 


Why  the  Preacher  Threw  His  Life  Away  333 

When  the  Deacon  reached  Hambright  and  saw  its 
poverty  and  general  air  of  unimportance  he  felt 
encouraged. 

"A  man  of  such  power  stay  a  lifetime  in  this  little 
hole?  Impossible!"  he  exclaimed  under  his  breath, 
when  he  looked  out  of  the  bus  along  the  wide,  deserted- 
looking  streets,  with  a  straggling  cottage  here  and  there 
on  either  side. 

He  stopped  at  the  same  hotel  with  the  Preacher  and 
became  his  shadow  for  a  week.  He  was  seated  with 
him  under  the  oak  in  the  square,  threshing  over  his 
argument  for  the  hundredth  time  in  the  most  good- 
natured  but  everlastingly  persistent  way. 

"Doctor,  it's  perfect  nonsense  for  a  man  of  your  mag 
nificent  talents,  of  your  culture  and  power  over  an  audi 
ence,  to  think  of  living  always  in  a  little  village  like  this  ! " 

"No,  Deacon,  my  work  is  here  for  the  South." 

"But,  my  dear  man,  in  Boston  it  would  be  for  the 
whole  nation,  North  and  South.  I'll  tell  you  what  we 
will  do.  Say  you  will  come,  and  we  will  make  your 
salary  eight  thousand  a  year.  That's  the  largest  salary 
ever  offered  a  Baptist  Preacher  in  America.  You  will 
pack  our  church  with  people,  give  us  new  life,  and  we 
can  afford  it.  You  will  be  a  power  in  Boston,  and  a 
power  in  the  world." 

The  Preacher  smiled  and  was  silent.    At  length  he  said : 

"I  appreciate  your  offer,  Deacon.  You  pay  me  the 
highest  compliment  you  know  how  to  express.  But  you 
prosperous  Yankees  can't  get  into  your  heads  the  idea 
that  there  are  many  things  which  money  can't  measure." 

"  But  we  know  a  good  thing  when  we  see  it,  and  we  go 
for  it !  "  interrupted  the  Deacon. 

"Believe  me,"  continued  the  Preacher,  "I  appreciate 
the  sacrifice,  the  generosity  and  breadth  of  sym 
pathy  this  offer  shows  in  your  hearts.  But  it  is  not  for 


334  The  Leopard's  Spots 

me.  My  work  is  here.  I  don't  mind  confessing  to  yott 
that  you  have  vastly  pleased  me  with  that  offer.  I'll 
brag  about  it  to  myself  the  rest  of  my  life." 

"But,  Doctor,  think  how  much  greater  power  a  gener 
ous  salary  will  give  you  in  furnishing  your  equipment 
for  work  and  in  ministering  to  any  cause  you  may  have 
at  heart,"  pleaded  the  Deacon. 

"I  don't  know.  I  have  a  salary  of  nine  hundred  dol 
lars.  With  five  hundred  I  buy  books,  food,  clothes, 
shelter,  the  companionship  for  the  soul.  The  balance 
suffices  for  the  body.  I  haven't  time  to  bother  with 
money.  The  man  who  receives  a  big  salary  must  live 
up  to  its  social  obligations,  and  he  must  pay  for  it  with 
his  life." 

"Doctor,  there  must  be  some  tremendous  force  that 
holds  you  to  such  a  decision  in  a  village.  It  seems  to  me 
you  are  throwing  your  life  away." 

"There  is  a  tremendous  force,  Deacon.  It's  the  over 
whelming  sense  of  obligation  I  feel  to  my  own  people 
who  have  suffered  so  much,  and  are  still  in  the  grip  of 
poverty  and  threatened  with  greater  trials.  I  can't 
leave  my  own  people  while  they  are  struggling  yet  with 
this  unsolved  Negro  problem.  Two  great  questions 
shadow  the  future  of  the  American  people,  the  conflict 
between  Labour  and  Capital  and  the  conflict  between 
the  African  and  the  Anglo-Saxon  race.  The  greatest, 

•  most  dangerous  and  most  hopeless  of  these  is  the  latter. 

;  My  place  is  here." 

;  The  Deacon  laughed.  "  You're  a  crank  on  that  subject. 
Come  to  Boston  and  you  will  see  with  a  better  perspec 
tive  that  the  question  is  settling  itself.  In  fact,  the  war 
absolutely  settled  it." 

"Deacon,"  said  the  Preacher,  with  a  quizzical  expres 
sion  about  his  eyes,  "do  you  believe  in  the  doctrine  of 
Election?" 


Why  the  Preacher  Threw  His  Life  Away  335 

"Yes,  I  do." 

"I  thought  so.  You  know,  I  never  saw  a  man  who 
believed  in  the  doctrine  of  Election  who  didn't  believe  he 
was  elected.  I  never  saw  a  man  in  my  life,  except  a 
lying  politician,  who  declared  the  Negro  problem  was 
settled,  unless  he  had  removed  his  family  to  a  place  of 
fancied  safety  where  he  would  never  come  in  contact 
with  it.  And  they  all  believe  that  the  Negro's  place  is 
in  the  South." 

The    Deacon    laughed   good-naturedly. 

"Come  with  us  and  we  will  show  you  greater  prob 
lems.  For  one,  the  life  and  death  struggle  of  Christianity 
itself  with  modern  materialism.  I  tell  you  the  Negro 
problem  was  settled  when  slavery  was  destroyed." 

"You  never  made  a  sadder  mistake.  The  South  did 
not  fight  to  hold  slaves.  Our  Confederate  Government 
at  Richmond  offered  to  guarantee  to  Europe  the  freedom 
of  every  slave  for  the  recognition  of  our  independence. 
Slavery  was  bound  of  its  own  weight  to  fall.  Virginia 
came  within  one  vote  in  her  Assembly  of  freeing  her 
slaves  years  before  the  war.  But  for  the  frenzy  of  your 
Abolition  fanatics,  who  first  sought  to  destroy  the  Union 
by  Secession  and  then  forced  Secession  on  the  South,  we 
would  have  freed  the  slaves  before  this  without  a  war, 
from  the  very  necessities  of  the  progress  of  the  material 
world,  to  say  nothing  of  its  moral  progress.  We  fought 
for  the  rights  we  held  under  the  old  constitution,  made 
by  a  slave-holding  aristocracy.  But  we  collided  with 
the  resistless  movement  of  humanity  from  the  idea  of 
local  sovereignty  toward  nationalism,  centralisation, 
solidarity." 

"That's  why  I  say,"  interrupted  the  Deacon,  "your 
Negro  question  has  already  been  settled.  The  nation  has 
become  a  reality,  not  a  name." 

"And  that  is  why  I  know,  Deacon,"  insisted  the 


336  The  Leopard's  Spots 

Preacher,  "that  we  have  not  only  not  settled  this  ques 
tion — we  haven't  even  faced  the  issues.  Nationality 
demands  solidarity.  And  you  can  never  get  solidarity 
in  a  nation  of  equal  rights  out  of  two  hostile  races  that 
*  do  not  intermarry.  In  a  Democracy  you  cannot  build 
a  nation  inside  of  a  nation  of  two  antagonistic  races  ;  and 
therefore  the  future  American  must  be  either  an  Anglo- 
Saxon  or  a  Mulatto.  And  if  a  Mulatto,  will  the  future 
be  worth  discussing?  " 

"I  never  thought  of  it  in  just  that  way,"  answered 
the  Deacon. 

"It  is  my  work  to  maintain  the  racial  absolutism  of 
the  Anglo-Saxon  in  the  South,  politically,  socially, 
economically. ' ' 

"But  can  it  be  done?  I  see  many  evidences  of 
a  mixture  of  blood  already,"  said  the  Deacon, 
seriously. 

"Yes,  we  are  doing  it.  This  mixture  you  observe  has 
no  social  significance,  for  a  simple  reason.  It  is  all  the 
result  of  the  surviving  polygamous  and  lawless  instincts 
of  the  white  male.  Unless  by  the  gradual  encroachments 
of  time,  culture,  wealth  and  political  exigencies  the  time 
comes  when  a  negro  shall  be  allowed  freely  to  choose  a 
white  woman  for  his  wife,  the  racial  integrity  remains 
intact.  The  right  to  choose  one's  mate  is  the  foundation 
of  racial  life  and  of  civilisation.  The  South  must  guard 
with  flaming  sword  every  avenue  of  approach  to  this  holy 
of  holies.  And  there  are  many  subtle  forces  at  work  to 
obscure  these  possible  approaches." 

"Well,  no  matter,"  broke  in  the  Deacon;  "come  with 
us  and  you  will  have  more  power  to  touch  with  your 
ideas  the  wealth  and  virtue  of  the  whole  nation." 

The  Preacher  was  silent  a  moment  and  seemed  to  be 
musing  in  a  sort  of  half  dream.  The  Deacon  looked  at 
him  with  a  growing  sense  of  the  hopelessness  of  his  task 


Why  the  Preacher  Threw  His  Life  Away  337 

but  of  surprise  at  this  revelation  of  the  secrets  of  his 
inner  life. 

"The  South  has  been  voiceless  in  these  later  years," 
he  went  on;  "her  voice  has  been  drowned  in  a  din  of 
cat-calls  from  an  army  of  cheap  scribblers  and  dema 
gogues.  But  when  these  children  we  are  rearing  down 
here  grow,  rocked  in  the  cradles  of  poverty,  nurtured 
in  the  fierce  struggle  to  save  the  life  of  a  mighty  race, 
they  will  find  speech,  and  their  songs  will  fill  the  world 
with  pathos  and  power. 

"I've  studied  your  great  cities.  Believe  me,  the  South 
is  worth  saving.  Against  the  possible  day  when  a  flood 
of  foreign  anarchy  threatens  the  foundations  of  the 
Republic  and  men  shall  laugh  at  the  faiths  of  your 
fathers,  and  undigested  wealth  beyond  the  dreams  of 
avarice  rots  your  society,  until  it  mocks  at  honour, 
love  and  God — against  that  day  we  will  preserve 
the  South!  " 

The  Preacher's  voice  was  now  vibrating  with  deep 
feeling,  and  the  Deacon  listened  with  breathless  interest. 

"  Believe  me,  Deacon,  the  ark  of  the  covenant  of  Ameri 
can  ideals  rests  to-day  on  the  Appalachian  Mountain 
range  of  the  South.  When  your  metropolitan  mobs 
shall  knock  at  the  doors  of  your  life  and  demand  the 
reason  of  your  existence,  from  these  poverty-stricken 
homes,  with  their  old-fashioned,  perhaps  medieval 
ideas,  will  come  forth  the  fierce  athletic  sons  and  sweet- 
voiced  daughters  in  whom  the  nation  will  find  a  new 
birth."  The  Preacher's  eyes  had  filled  with  tears  and 
his  voice  dropped  into  a  low,  dreamlike  prophecy. 

"You  cannot  understand,"  he  resumed,  in  a  clear 
voice,  "why  I  feel  so  profoundly  depressed  just  now  be 
cause  the  Republican  party,  wKch  with  you  stands  for 
the  virtue,  wealth  and  intelligence  of  the  community,  is 
now  in  charge  of  this  state.  I  will  tell  you  why.  A 


338  The  Leopard's  Spots 

Republican  administration  in  North  Carolina  simply 
means  a  Negro  oligarchy.  The  state  is  now  being 
debauched  and  degraded  by  this  fact  in  the  innermost 
depths  of  its  character  and  life.  My  place  is  here  in 
this  fight." 

"But,  Doctor,  will  not  your  industrial  training  of  the 
Negro  gradually  minimise  any  danger  to  your  society  ?  " 

*'  No ;  it  will  gradually  increase  it.  Industrial  training 
gives  power.  If  the  Negro  ever  becomes  a  serious  com 
petitor  of  the  white  labourer  in  the  industries  of  the 
South,  the  white  man  will  kill  him,  just  as  your  Labour- 
Unions  do  in  the  North  now  where  the  conditions  of  life 
are  hard  and  men  fight  with  tooth  and  nail  for  bread. 
If  you  train  the  Negroes  to  be  scientific  farmers  they 
will  become  a  race  of  aristocrats,  and  when  five  genera 
tions  removed  from  the  memory  of  slavery  a  war  of  races 
will  be  inevitable,  unless  the  Anglo-Saxon  grant  this 
trained  and  wealthy  African  equal  social  rights.  The 
Anglo-Saxon  cannot  do  this  without  suicide.  One  drop 
of  Negro  blood  makes  a  Negro." 

"I  can't  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am,  Doctor,  that  I  can't 
persuade  you  to  become  our  pastor.  But  I  can  under 
stand  since  this  talk  something  of  the  larger  views  of 
your  duty." 

The  Deacon  sought  Mrs.  Durham  that  evening  and  laid 
siege  to  her  resolutely. 

"Ah  !  Deacon,  you're  shrewd — you  are  going  to  flatter 
me,  but  I  can't  let  you.  I'm  an  old  fogy  and  out  of  date. 
I'm  not  orthodox  on  the  Negro  from  Boston's  point 
of  view." 

"Nonsense!"  growled  the  Deacon.  "We  don't  care 
what  you  or  the  Doctor  either  thinks  about  the  Negro 
or  the  Jap  or  the  Chinaman.  We  want  a  preacher 
imbued  with  the  power  of  the  Holy  Ghost  to  preach 
the  Gospel  of  Christ." 


Why  the  Preacher  Threw  His  Life  Away  339 

"Well,  you  have  quite  captured  me  since  you  have 
been  here.  You  are  a  revelation  to  me  of  what  a  deacon 
might  be  to  a  pastor  and  his  wife.  To  be  frank  with  you, 
I  am  on  your  side.  I  am  tired  of  the  Negro.  I  don't 
want  to  solve  him.  He  is  an  impossible  job  from  my 
point  of  view.  I  should  be  delighted  to  go  to  Boston  now 
and  begin  life  over  again.  But  I  do  not  figure  in  the 
decision.  Doctor  Durham  settles  such  questions  for 
himself.  And  I  respect  him  more  for  it." 

Encouraged  by  this  decision  of  his  wife,  the  Deacon 
renewed  his  efforts  to  change  the  Preacher's  mind  next 
day,  but  in  vain.  He  stayed  over  Sunday,  heard  him 
preach  two  sermons,  and  sorrowfully  bade  him  good-by 
on  Monday.  He  carried  back  to  Boston  his  final  word 
declining  this  call. 

As  the  Deacon  stepped  on  the  train,  he  warmly  pressed 
his  hand  and  said :  "  God  bless  you,  Doctor.  If  you  ever 
need  a  friend,  you  know  my  name  and  address." 


CHAPTER  XXII 
THE  FLESH  AND  THE  SPIRIT 

G ASTON  tried  to  wait  in  patience  another  week 
for  a  word  from  the  woman  he  loved,  and  when 
the  last  mail  came  and  brought  no  letter  for 
him  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with  the  deepest  soul 
crisis  of  his  life. 

After  all,  thoughts  are  things.  The  report  of  her 
social  frivolities  at  first  made  little  impression  on  him. 
But  the  thought  had  fallen  in  his  heart  and  it  was 
growing  a  poisoned  weed. 

It  is  possible  to  kill  the  human  body  with  an  idea.  The 
fairest  day  the  spring  ever  sent  can  be  blackened  and 
turned  from  sunshine  into  storm  by  the  flitting  of  a  little 
cloua  of  thought  no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand. 

So  Gaston  found  this  thought  of  dancing  and  flirting 
in  gay  society  by  the  woman  whom  he  had  enthroned 
in  the  holy  of  holies  of  his  soul  to  be  destroying  his 
strength  of  character  and  like  a  deadly  cancer  eating 
his  heart  out. 

He  sat  down  by  his  window  that  night,  unable  to 
work,  and  tried  to  reconcile  such  a  life  with  his  ideal. 

"Why  should  I  be  so  provincial!  "  he  mused.  "The 
thing  only  shocks  me  because  I  am  unused  to  it.  She 
has  grown  up  in  this  atmosphere.  To  her  it  is  a  harm 
less  pastime." 

Then  he  took  out  of  his  desk  her  picture,  lit  his 
lamp  and  looked  long  and  tenderly  at  it,  until  his  soul 
was  drunk  again  with  the  memory  of  her  beauty,  the 

340 


The  Flesh  and  the  Spirit  341 

warm  touch  of  her  hand  and  the  thrill  of  her  full  soft 
lips  in  the  only  two  kisses  he  had  ever  received  from  the 
heart  of  a  woman. 

Then  the  vision  of  a  ballroom  came  to  torture  him. 
He  could  see  her  dressed  in  that  delicate  creation  of 
French  genius  he  had  seen  her  wear  the  memorable  night 
at  the  Springs.  The  French  know  so  deeply  the  subtle 
art  of  draping  a  woman's  body  to  tempt  the  soul  of  men. 
How  he  cursed  them  to-night !  He  could  see  her  bare 
arms,  white,  gleaming  shoulders,  neck,  and  back,  and 
round  full  bosom  softly  rising  and  falling  with  her 
breathing,  as  she  swept  through  a  brilliant  ballroom  to 
the  strains  of  entrancing  music. 

He  knew  the  dance  was  a  social  convention,  of  course. 
But  its  deep  Nature  significance  he  knew  also.  He  knew 
that  it  was  as  old  as  human  society,  and  full  of  a  thou 
sand  subtle  suggestions — that  it  was  the  actual  touch  of 
the  human  body,  with  rhythmic  movement,  set  to  the 
passionate  music  of  love.  This  music  spoke  in  quivering 
melody  what  the  lips  did  not  dare  to  say.  This  he  knew 
was  the  deep  secret  of  the  fascination  of  the  dance  for 
the  bov  and  the  girl,  the  man  and  the  woman. 

HL;  imagination  leaped  the  centuries  that  separate  us 
from  the  great  races  of  the  past  who  scorned  humbug 
and  hypocrisy,  and  held  their  dances  in  the  deep  shadows 
of  great  forests,  without  the  draperies  of  tailors.  These 
men  and  women  looked  Nature  in  the  face  and  were  not 
afraid,  and  did  not  try  to  apologise  or  lie  about  it.  He 
felt  humiliated  and  betrayed. 

He  thought,  too,  of  her  wealth  with  a  feeling  of  resent 
ment  and  isolation.  Taken  with  this  social  nightmare  it 
seemed  to  raise  an  impassable  barrier  between  them.  He 
knew  that  in  the  terrible  quarrel  she  had  with  her  father 
on  their  first  clash  he  had  sworn  if  she  disobeyed  him 
to  disinherit  her.  She  had  answered  him  in  bitter 


342  The  Leopard's  Spots 

defiance.  And  yet  time  often  changes  these  noble 
visions  of  poverty  and  strenuous  faith  in  high  ideals. 
Wealth  and  all  its  good  things  becomes  with  us  at  last 
habit.  And  habit  is  life. 

Could  it  be  possible  she  had  weakened  in  resolution  of 
loyalty  when  brought  face  to  face  with  the  actual  break 
ing  of  the  habits  of  a  lifetime?  Might  not  the  three 
forces  combined:  the  habit  of  social  conventions,  the 
habit  of  luxury  and  the  habit  of  obedience  to  a  master 
ful  and  lovable  father,  be  sufficient  to  crush  her  love  at 
last  ?  It  seemed  to  him  to-night  not  only  a  possibility 
but  almost  an  accomplished  fact. 

At  one  o'clock  he  went  to  bed  and  tried  to  sleep.  He 
tossed  for  an  hour.  His  brain  was  on  fire  and  his 
imagination  lit  with  its  glare.  He  could  sweep  the 
world  with  his  vision  in  the  silence  and  the  darkness 
— yes,  the  world  that  is,  and  that  which  was,  and  is 
to  come. 

He  arose  and  dressed.  It  was  half  past  two  o'clock. 
He  knew  that  this  was  to  be  the  first  night  in  all  his  life 
when  he  could  not  sleep.  He  was  shocked  and  sobered 
by  the  tremendous  import  of  such  an  event  in  the 
development  of  his  character.  He  had  never  been  .^wept 
off  his  feet  before.  He  knew  now  that  before  the  sun 
rose  he  would  fight  with  the  powers  and  princes  of  the 
air  for  the  mastery  of  life. 

He  left  his  room  and  walked  out  on  the  road  to  the 
Springs  over  which  he  had  gone  so  many  times  in  child 
hood.  The  moon  was  obscured  by  fleeting  clouds  and 
the  air  had  the  sharp  touch  of  autumn  in  its  breath.  He 
walked  slowly  past  the  darkened,  silent  houses  and  felt 
his  brain  begin  to  cool  in  the  sweet  air. 

The  last  note  he  had  received  from  her,  weeks  ago, 
was  the  brief  one  announcing  the  new  break  in  the  poor 
little  correspondence  she  had  promised  him.  The  last 


The  Flesh  and  the  Spirit  343 

paragraph  of  that  note  now  took  on  a  sinister  meaning. 
He  recalled  it  word  by  word: 

"I  feel  like  I  cannot  trifle  with  you  in  this  way  again. 
It  is  humiliating  to  me  and  to  you.  I  can  see  no  light 
in  our  future.  I  release  you  from  any  tie  I  may  have  im 
posed  on  your  life.  I  feel  I  have  fallen  short  of  what  you 
deserve,  but  I  am  so  situated  between  my  mother's  fail 
ing  health  and  my  father's  will,  and  my  love  for  them 
both,  I  cannot  help  it.  I  will  love  you  always,  but  you 
are  free." 

Was  not  this  a  kindly  and  final  breaking  of  their 
pledge  to  one  another?  Yet  she  had  not  returned  the 
little  medal  he  had  given  her  with  that  exchange  of 
eternal  love  and  faith.  Could  she  keep  this  and  really 
mean  to  break  with  him  finally  ?  He  could  not  believe  it. 

His  whole  life  had  been  dominated  by  this  dream  of  an 
ideal  love.  For  it  he  had  denied  himself  the  indulgences 
that  his  college  mates  and  young  associates  had  taken  as 
a  matter  of  course.  He  had  never  touched  wine.  He 
had  never  smoked.  He  had  never  learned  the  difference 
between  a  queen  and  a  jack  in  cards.  He  had  kept  away 
from  women.  He  had  given  his  body  and  soul  to  the 
service  of  his  Ideal,  and  bent  every  energy  to  the  develop 
ment  of  his  mind  that  he  might  grasp  with  more  power 
its  sweetness  and  beauty  when  realised. 

Did  it  pay?  The  Flesh  was  shrieking  this  question . 
now  into  the  face  of  the  Spirit. 

He  had  met  the  One  Woman  his  soul  had  desired  above 
all  others.  There  could  be  no  mistake  about  that. 
And  now  she  was  failing  him  when  he  had  laid  at  her  feet 
his  life.  It  made  him  sick  to  recall  how  utter  had  been 
his  surrender. 

Why  should  he  longer  deny  the  flesh,  when  the  soul's 
dream  failed  the  test  of  pain  and  struggle  ? 

VTas  it  possible  that  he  had  been  a  fool  and  was 


344  The  Leopard's  Spots 

missing  the  full  expression  of  life,  which  is  both 
flesh  and  spirit? 

The  world  was  full  of  sweet  odours.  He  had  delicate 
and  powerful  nostrils.  Why  not  enjoy  them  ?  The  world 
was  full  of  beauty  ravishing  to  the  eye.  He  had  keen 
eyes  trained  to  see.  Why  should  he  not  open  his  eyes 
and  gaze  on  it  all?  The  world  was  full  of  entrancing 
music.  He  had  ears  trained  to  hear.  Why  should  he 
stuff  them  with  dreams  of  a  doubtful  future  and  not 
hear  it  all  ?  The  world  was  full  of  things  soft  and  good 
to  the  touch.  Why  should  he  not  grasp  them?  His 
hands  were  cunning,  and  every  finger  tingled  with 
sensitive  nerve  tips.  The  world  was  full  of  good  things 
sweet  to  the  taste.  Why  should  he  not  eat  and  drink 
as  others,  as  old  and  wise  perhaps? 

Was  a  man  full-grown  until  he  had  seen,  felt,  smelled, 
tasted  and  heard  all  life?  Was  there  anything,  after 
all  in  good  or  bad  ?  Were  these  things  not  names  ?  If 
not,  how  could  we  know  unless  we  tried  them?  What 
was  the  good  of  good  things? 

"Am  I  not  a  narrow-minded  fool,  instead  of  a  wise 
man,  to  throttle  my  impulses  and  deny  the  flesh  for  an 
imaginary  gain?  "  he  asked  himself  aloud. 

She  had  written  he  was  free. 

"Well,  by  the  eternal,  I  will  be  free !  "  he  exclaimed. 
"I  will  sweep  the  whole  gamut  of  human  passion  and 
human  emotion.  I  will  drink  life  to  the  deepest  dregs  of 
its  red  wine.  I  will  taste,  feel,  see,  touch,  hear  all.  I  will 
not  be  cheated.  I  will  know  for  myself  what  it  is  to  live." 

When  he  woke  to  the  consciousness  of  time  and  place 
he  found  he  was  seated  at  the  Sulphur  Spring  where  it 
gushed  from  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  that  the  eastern 
horizon  was  gray  with  the  dawn. 

A  sense  of  new-found  power  welled  up  in  him.  He 
had  regained  control  of  himself. 


The  Flesh  and  the  Spirit  345 

"Good.  I  will  no  longer  be  a  moping  lovesick  fool. 
I  am  a  man.  To  will  is  to  live;  to  cease  to  will  is  to  die. 
I  have  regained  my  will — I  live  ! ' ' 

He  walked  rapidly  back  to  town  with  vigorous  step. 
His  mind  was  clear. 

"  I  will  never  write  her  another  line  until  she  writes  to 
me.  I  will  not  be  a  dog  and  whine  at  any  rich  man's  door 
or  any  woman's  feet.  The  world  is  large,  and  I  am  large. 
I  will  be  sought  as  well  as  seek.  Besides,  my  country 
needs  me.  If  I  am  to  give  myself  up  it  will  be  for  larger 
ends  than  for  the  smiles  of  one  woman." 

And  then  for  two  weeks  he  entered  deliberately  on  a 
series  of  dissipations.  He  left  Hambright  and  sought 
convivial  friends  on  the  seacoast.  He  amazed  them 
by  asking  to  be  taught  cards. 

He  swept  the  gamut  of  all  the  senses  without  reserve, 
day  after  day  and  night  after  night. 

At  the  end  of  two  weeks  he  found  himself  haunt 
ing  the  post-office  oftener,  with  a  vague  sense  of 
impending  calamity. 

"The  thing's  all  over,  I  tell  you !  "  he  said  to  himself 
again  and  again.  And  then  he  would  hurry  to  the  next 
mail  as  eagerly  as  ever.  As  the  excitement  began  to 
tire  him,  the  sense  of  longing  for  her  face  and  voice  and 
the  touch  of  her  hand  became  intolerable. 

"My  God,  I'd  give  all  the  world  holds  of  sin  to  see  her 
and  hear  one  word  from  her  lips  !  "  he  exclaimed,  as  he 
locked  himself  in  his  room  one  night. 

"Why  didn't  she  answer  my  last  letter?"  he  con 
tinued.  "Ah,  that  was  the  best  letter  I  ever  wrote 
her !  I  put  my  soul  in  every  word.  I  didn't  believe 
the  woman  lived  who  could  read  such  confessions  and 
such  worship  without  reply.  Surely  she  has  a  heart  !  " 

When  he  went  to  the  post-office  the  next  day  he  got  a 
letter  forwarded  from  Hambright  by  the  Preacher.  It 


346  The  Leopard's  Spots 

was  postmarked  Narragansett  Pier,  and  addressed  in  a 
bold  masculine  hand  he  had  never  seen  before. 

He  tore  it  open,  and  inside  found  his  last  letter  to 
Sallie  Worth,  returned  with  the  seal  unbroken.  He 
sprang  to  his  feet  with  flashing  eyes,  trembling  from 
head  to  foot. 

"Ah,  they  did  not  dare  to  let  her  receive  another  of 
my  letters  !  So  a  clerk  returns  it  unopened,"  he  cried. 
"And  a  great  lump  rose  in  his  throat  as  he  thought  of 
the  scenes  of  the  past  two  weeks.  The  old  fever  and  the 
old  longing  came  rushing  over  his  prostrate  soul  now  in 
resistless  torrents:  "How  dare  a  strange  hand  touch 
a  message  to  her !  I  could  strangle  him.  We  will  see 
now  who  wins  the  fight."  He  set  his  lips  with  deter 
mination,  packed  his  valise,  and  took  the  train  for 
home  without  a  word  of  farewell  to  the  companions 
of  his  revels. 

When  he  reached  Hambright  he  felt  sure  of  a  letter 
from  her.  A  strange  joy  filled  his  heart. 

"I  have  either  got  a  letter  or  she's  writing  one  to  me 
this  minute  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

He  went  to  the  post-office  in  a  state  of  exhilaration. 
The  letter  was  not  there.  But  it  did  not  depress  him. 

"It  is  on  the  way,"  he  quickly  said. 

For  two  days  he  remained  in  that  condition  of  tense, 
nervous  excitement  and  expectation,  and  on  the  follow 
ing  day  he  opened  his  box  and  found  his  letter. 

"I  knew  it!  "  he  said,  with  a  thrill  of  joy  that  was 
half  awe  at  the  remarkable  confirmation  he  had  received 
of  their  sympathy. 

He  hurried  to  his  office  and  read  the  big,  precious 
message. 

How  its  words  burned  into  his  soul !  Every  line 
seemed  alive  with  her  spirit.  How  beautiful  the  sight 
of  her  handwriting !  He  kissed  it  again  and  again.  He 


The  Flesh  and  the  Spirit  347 

read  with  bated  breath.  The  address  was  doubly 
expressive,  because  it  contained  the  first  words  of 
abandoned  tenderness  with  which  she  had  ever  written 
to  him,  except  in  the  concealed  message  dotted  in  the 
note  that  broke  their  early  correspondence. 

"My  Darling:  I  have  gone  through  deep  waters 
within  the  last  three  weeks.  I  became  so  depressed  and 
hungry  to  see  you  I  felt  some  awful  calamity  was  hang 
ing  over  you  and  over  me,  and  that  it  was  my  fault.  I 
could  scarcely  eat  or  sleep. 

"I  felt  I  should  go  mad  if  I  did  not  speak,  and  so  I 
told  Mamma.  She  sympathised  tenderly  with  me,  but 
insisted  I  should  not  write.  She  is  so  feeble  I  could 
not  cross  her.  Ah,  the  agony  of  it !  Sometimes  I 
saw  you  drowning  and  stretching  out  your  hands  to 
me  for  help. 

"  Sometimes  in  my  dreams  I  saw  you  fighting  against 
overwhelming  odds  with  strong,  brutal  men,  whose  faces 
were  full  of  hate,  and  I  could  not  reach  you. 

"I  was  nervous  and  unstrung,  but  you  can  never  know 
how  real  the  horror  of  it  all  was  upon  me. 

"I  made  up  my  mind  one  night  to  telegraph  you.  I 
heard  some  one  talking  inside  Mamma's  room.  I  gently 
opened  the  door  between  our  rooms,  and  she  was  pray 
ing  aloud  for  me.  I  stood  spellbound.  I  never  knew 
how  she  loved  me  before.  When  at  last  she  prayed 
that  in  the  end  I  might  have  the  desire  or  my  heart,  and 
my  life  be  crowned  with  the  joy  of  a  noble  man's  love, 
and  that  it  might  be  yours,  and  that  she  should  be 
permitted  to  see  and  rejoice  with  me,  I  could  endure 
it  no  longer. 

"Choking  with  sobs,  I  ran  to  her  kneeling  figure,  threw 
my  arms  around  her  neck  and  covered  her  dear  face  with 
kisses. 


348  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"I  could  not  send  the  message  I  had  written  after  that 
scene. 

"The  next  day  Papa  came,  and  she  told  him  in  my 
presence:  'Now,  General,  I  have  carried  out  your  wishes 
with  Sallie  against  my  judgment.  The  strain  has  been 
more  than  you  can  understand.  I  give  up  the  task. 
You  can  manage  her  now  to  suit  yourself.' 

"There  was  a  firmness  in  her  voice  I  had  never  heard 
before.  He  noted  it,  and  was  startled  into  silence  by  it. 
He  had  a  long  talk  with  me  and  repeated  his  orders  with 
increasing  emphasis. 

"The  next  day  I  was  unusually  depressed.  I  did  not 
get  out  of  bed  all  day.  At  night  I  went  down  to  supper. 
The  clerk  at  the  desk  of  the  hotel  called  me  and  said: 
'Miss  Worth,  I  have  a  terrible  sin  to  confess  to  you. 
I'm  a  lover  myself,  and  I've  done  you  a  wrong.  I 
returned  to  a  young  man  yesterday  a  letter  to  you 
by  request  of  the  General.  Forgive  me  for  it,  and 
don't  tell  him  I  told  you.' 

"That  night  Papa  and  I  had  a  fearful  scene.  I  will  not 
attempt  to  describe  it.  But  the  end  was,  I  said  to  him 
with  all  the  courage  of  despair :  '  I  am  twenty-one  years 
old.  I  am  a  free  woman.  I  will  write  to  whom  I  please 
and  when  I  please  and  I  will  not  ask  you  again.  It  is 
your  right  to  turn  me  out  of  your  house,  but  you  shall 
not  murder  my  soul.' 

"Then  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  Papa  broke  down 
and  sobbed  lil"  a  child.  We  kissed  and  made  up,  and  I 
am  to  write  to  you  when  I  like. 

"Forgive  my  long  silence.  Write  and  tell  me  you  love 
me.  My  heart  is  sick  with  the  thought  that  I  have  been 
cowardly  and  failed  you.  Write  me  a  long  letter,  and 
you  cannot  say  things  extravagant  enough  for  my 
hungry  heart. 

"I  feel  utterly  helpess  when  I  think  how  completely 


The  Flesh  and  the  Spirit  349 

you  have  come  to  rule  my  life.     I  wish  you  to  rule  it. 
It  is  all  yours -" 

And  then  she  said  many  foolish  things  that  only 
the  eyes  of  one  lover  should  ever  see,  for  only  to  him 
could  they  have  meaning. 

When  he  finished  reading  this  letter  and  had  devoured 
with  eagerness  these  foolish  extravagances  with  which 
she  closed  it  he  buried  his  face  in  his  arms  across  his 
desk. 

A  big,  strong,  boastful  man  whose  will  had  defied 
the  world— now  he  was  crying  like  a  whipped  child. 


THE  TRIAL  BY  FIRE 


Book  £bree-£be  Grial  bs  jfire 

CHAPTER   I 
A  GROWL  BENEATH  THE  EARTH 

APPARENTLY  McLeod's  triumph  was  complete 
and  permanent.  The  farmers  were  disap 
pointed  in  their  wild  hopes  of  a  sub-treasury 
and  other  socialistic  schemes,  but  the  passions  of  the 
campaign  had  been  violent,  and  the  offices  they  had 
won  with  their  Negro  ally  had  been  soothing  to  their 
sense  of  pride. 

A  Republican  farmer  was  Governor  for  a  term  of  four 
years ;  they  had  elected  two  Senators  and  three  Supreme 
Court  judges,  and  they  had  completely  smashed  the 
power  of  the  Democratic  party  in  the  county  govern 
ments.  Everywhere  they  were  triumphant  in  the  local 
elections,  filling  almost  every  county  office  with  heavy- 
handed  sons  of  toil  from  the  country  districts,  and 
making  the  town  fops  who  had  been  drawing  these  fat 
salaries  get  out  and  work  for  a  living. 

Even  McLeod  was  amazed  at  the  thoroughness  with 
which  they  cleaned  the  state  of  every  vestige  of  the 
invincible  Democracy  that  had  ruled  with  a  rod  of  iron 
since  Legree's  flight. 

Gaston  could  see  but  one  weak  spot  in  the  alliance. 
The  Negroes  had  demanded  their  share  of  the  spoils  and 
were  gradually  forcing  their  reluctant  allies  to  grant 
them.  He  watched  the  progress  of  this  movement  with 
thrilling  interest.  The  Negroes  had  demanded  the 
repeal  of  the  county  government  plan  of  the  Democrac3r, 

353 


354  The   Leopard's   Spots 

under  which  the  credit  of  the  forty  black  counties  had 
been  rescued  from  bankruptcy  at  the  expense  of  local 
self-government. 

When  the  lawmakers  who  succeeded  Legree  had  put 
this  scheme  of  centralised  power  in  force,  these  forty 
counties  were  immediately  lifted  from  ruin  to  prosperity. 
But  no  Negro  ever  held  another  office  in  them. 

Now  the  Negroes  demanded  the  return  to  the  princi 
ples  of  pure  Democracy  and  the  right  to  elect  all  town, 
township  and  county  officers  direct.  They  got  their 
demands.  They  took  charge  in  short  order  of  the  great, 
rich  counties  in  the  Black  Belt,  and  white  men  ceased 
to  hold  the  offices. 

A  Negro  college-graduate  from  Miss  Walker's  classical 
institution  had  started  a  newspaper,  at  Independence, 
noted  for  its  open  demands  for  the  recognition  of  the 
economic,  social  and  political  equality  of  the  races. 
Young  Negro  men  and  women  walking  the  streets  now 
refused  to  give  half  the  sidewalk  to  a  white  man  or 
woman  when  they  met,  and  there  were  an  increasing 
number  of  fights  from  such  causes. 

Gaston  noted  these  signs  with  a  growing  sense  of  their 
import  and  began  his  work  for  the  second  great  cam 
paign.  The  election  for  a  Legislature  alone  he  knew 
was  lost  already.  His  party  had  simply  abandoned  the 
fight.  The  allied  party  had  passed  new  election  laws, 
and  under  the  tutelage  of  the  doubtful  methods  of  the 
past  they  had  taken  every  partisan  advantage  possible 
within  the  limits  of  the  Constitution.  They  could  not 
be  overthrown  short  of  a  political  earthquake,  and  he 
knew  it.  But  he  thought  he  heard  in  the  depths  of  the 
earth  the  low  ramble  of  its  coming,  and  he  began  to 
prepare  for  it. 


CHAPTER  II 
FACE  TO  FACE  WITH  FATE 

THREE  weeks  before  Christmas  Gaston  began  to 
dream  of  the  visit  he  was  to  make  to  Independ 
ence  to  see  Sallie  Worth.  How  long  it  seemed 
since  she  had  kissed  him  in  the  twilight  of  that  Pullman 
car  and  the  Limited  had  rolled  away,  bearing  her  farther 
and  farther  from  his  life !  He  would  sit  now  for  an 
hour  reading  her  last  letter,  looking  at  her  picture  on 
his  desk  and  dreaming  of  what  she  would  say  when 
he  sat  bj  her  side  again  in  her  own  home. 

And  then  like  a  thunderbolt  out  of  a  clear  sky  came 
a  tearful  letter  announcing  another  storm  at  home.  Her 
father  had  again  forbidden  her  to  write.  She  said,  at 
the  last,  that  Gaston's  visit  must  be  postponed  indefi 
nitely  for  the  present.  He  gazed  at  the  letter  with  a 
hardened  look. 

"I  will  go.  I'll  face  General  Worth  in  his  own  home 
and  demand  his  reasons  for  such  treatment.  I  am  a 
man.  I  am  entitled  to  the  respect  of  a  man."  He 
made  this  declaration  with  a  quiet  force  that  left  no 
doubt  about  his  doing  it. 

He  wrote  Sallie  that  he  could  not  and  would  not 
endure  such  a  fight  in  the  dark  with  the  General,  and 
that  he  was  going  to  Independence  on  the  day  before 
Christmas  as  she  had  planned  at  first,  to  have  it  out 
with  him  face  to  face. 

She  wrote  in  reply  and  begged  him  under  no  circum- 

355 


356  The  Leopard's  Spots 

stances  to  come  until  conditions  were  more  favourable. 
He  got  this  letter  the  day  before  he  was  to  start. 

"  I'll  go  and  I'll  see  him  if  I  have  to  fight  my  way  into 
his  house;  that's  all  there  is  to  it!"  he  exclaimed. 

When  he  reached  Independence,  St.  Clare  met  him 
at  the  depot  and  gave  him  an  eager  welcome. 

"I've  been  expecting  you,  you  hard-headed  fool!" 
he  said,  impulsively. 

"Well,  your  words  are  not  equal  to  your  handshake. 
What's  the  matter?"  asked  Gaston. 

"You  know  what's  the  matter.  Miss  Sallie  has  been 
to  see  me  this  afternoon  and  begged  me  to  chain  you 
at  my  house  if  you  came  to  town  to-day." 

"Well,  you'll  need  handcuffs,  and  help  to  get  them 
on,"  replied  Gaston,  with  quiet  decision. 

"Look  here,  old  boy,  you're  not  going  down  to  that 
house  to-night  with  the  old  man  threatening  to  kill 
you  on  sight,  and  your  girl  bordering  on  collapse?" 

"I  am.  I've  been  bordering  on  collapse  for  some 
time  myself.  I'm  getting  used  to  it." 

"You're  a  fool." 

"Granted;  but  I'll  risk  it." 

"But,  man,  I  tell  you  Miss  Sallie  will  be  furious  with 
you  if  you  go  after  all  the  messages  she  has  sent  you." 

"I'll  risk  her  fury,  too." 

"Gaston,  let  me  beg  you  not  to  do  it." 

"I'm  going,  Bob.  It  isn't  any  use  for  you  to  waste 
your  breath." 

"You  know  where  my  heart  is,  old  chum,"  said  Bob, 
yielding  reluctantly.  "  I  couldn't  go  down  to  that  house 
to-night  under  the  conditions  you  are  going  for  the 
world." 

"Why  not?     It's  the  manly  thing  to  do." 

"It's  a  dangerous  thing  to  do.  Fathers  have  killed 
men  under  such  conditions." 


Face  to  Face  with  Fate  357 

"Well,  I'll  risk  it.  I'm  going  as  soon  as  I  can  brush 
up  a  little." 

Bob  walked  with  him  to  the  outskirts  of  the  city, 
begging  in  vain  that  he  should  turn  back,  but  he  never 
slacked  his  pace. 

When  he  turned  to  go  home  Bob  pressed  his  hand 
and  said,  "Good  luck!  And  may  your  shadow  never 
grow  less." 

Gaston  walked  rapidly  on  toward  Oakwood.  As  he 
passed  through  the  shadows  of  the  forest  near  the  gate 
a  flood  of  tender  memories  rushed  over  him.  He  was 
back  again  by  her  side  on  that  morning  he  met  her,  with 
the  first  flush  of  love  thrilling  his  life.  He  could  see 
her  looking  earnestly  at  him  as  though  trying  to  solve 
a  riddle.  He  could  hear  her  laughter  full  of  joy  and 
happiness.  As  he  turned  into  the  gateway  the  house 
flashed  on  him  its  gleaming  windows  from  the  hilltop. 
He  felt  his  heart  sink  with  bitterness  as  he  realised  the 
contrast  of  his  last  entrance  into  that  house,  its  welcomed 
guest,  and  his  present  unbidden  intrusion.  Once  those 
lights  had  gleamed  only  a  message  of  peace  and  love. 
Now  they  seemed  signals  of  war  some  enemy  had  set 
on  the  hill  to  warn  of  his  approach. 

He  paused  a  moment  and  wiped  the  perspiration  from 
his  brow.  It  was  Christmas  E  vs,  but  the  air  was  balmy 
and  springlike  and  his  rapid  walk  had  tired  him.  He 
had  eaten  nothing  all  day,  had  slept  only  a  few  hours  the 
night  before,  and  the  nerve  strain  had  been  more  than 
he  knew. 

He  looked  up  at  the  great  white  pillars  softly  shining 
in  the  starlight,  and  a  sickening  fear  of  a  possible 
tragedy  behind  those  doors  crept  over  him. 

"My  God!"  he  exclaimed,  "I  had  rather  charge  a 
breastworks  in  the  face  of  flashing  guns  than  go  into 
that  house  to-night  and  meet  one  man  I" 


358  The  Leopard's  Spots 

He  recognised  the  breach  of  the  finer  amenities  of  life 
involved  in  forcing  his  way  into  a  house  under  such 
conditions,  and  it  humiliated  him  for  a  moment. 

"We  will  not  stickle  for  forms  now,"  he  said  to  him 
self,  firmly.  ' '  This  is  war.  I  am  to  uncover  the  batteries 
of  my  enemy.  I  have  hesitated  long  enough.  I  will  not 
fight  in  the  dark  another  day." 

As  he  stepped  briskly  up  to  the  door  he  started  at  a 
sudden  thought.  What  if  the  General  had  ordered  the 
servants  to  slam  the  door  in  his  face  ?  The  possibility 
of  such  an  unforeseen  insult  made  the  cold  sweat  break 
out  over  his  face  as  he  rang  the  bell.  No  matter;  he 
was  in  for  it  now — he  would  face  hell  if  need  be. 

He  waited  but  an  instant,  and  heard  the  heavy  tread 
of  a  man  approach  the  door.  Instinctively  he  knew 
that  the  General  himself  was  on  guard  and  would  open 
the  door.  Evidently  he  had  expected  him. 

The  door  opened  about  two  feet  and  the  G€neral 
glared  at  him  livid  with  rage.  He  held  one  hand  on 
the  door  and  the  other  on  its  facing,  and  his  towering 
figure  filled  the  space. 

"Good-evening,  General!"  said  Gaston,  with  embar 
rassment. 

"What  do  you  want,  sir?"  he  growled. 

"I  wish  to  see  you  for  a  few  minutes." 

"Well,  I  don't  want  to  see  you." 

"Whether  you  wish  to  or  not,  you  must  do  it  sooner 
or  later,"  answered  Gaston,  with  dignity. 

"Indeed I  Your  insolence  is  sublime,  I  must 
say." 

"The  sooner  you  and  I  have  a  plain  talk  the  better  for 
both  of  us.  It  can't  be  put  off  any  longer,"  Gaston 
continued,  with  self-control.  He  was  looking  the  General 
straight  in  the  eyes  now,  with  head  and  broad  shoulders 
erect,  and  his  square-cut  jaws  were  snapping  his  words 


Face  to  Face  with  Fate  359 

with  a  clean  emphasis  that  was  not  lost  on  the  older 
master  of  men  before  him. 

"Call  at  my  office  in  the  morning  at  ten  o'clock,"  he 
said,  at  length. 

"  I  will  not  do  it.  I  am  going  home  on  the  nine  o'clock 
train.  To-morrow  is  Christmas  Day.  The  issue  between 
us  is  of  life  import  to  me,  and  it  may  be  of  equal  impor 
tance  to  you.  I  will  not  put  it  off  another  hour." 

The  General  glared  at  him.  His  hands  began  to 
tremble,  and,  raising  his  voice,  he  thundered: 

"I  am  not  accustomed  to  take  orders  from  young 
upstarts.  How  dare  you  attempt  to  force  yourself 
into  my  house  when  you  were  told  again  and  again  not 
to  attempt  it,  sir?" 

' '  Your  former  welcome  to  me  on  three  occasions  when 
the  object  of  my  visits  was  as  well  known  to  you  as 
to  me,  gives  me,  at  least,  the  vested  rights  of  a  final 
interview.  I  demand  it,"  retorted  Gaston,  curtly. 

"And  I  refuse  it."  Still  there  was  a  note  of  inde 
cision  in  his  voice  which  Gaston  was  quick  to  catch. 

"General,"  he  protested,  "you  are  a  soldier  and  a 
gentleman.  You  never  fought  an  enemy  with  uncivilised 
warfare.  Yet  you  have  allowed  some  one  under  your 
protection  to  stab  me  in  the  dark  for  the  past  year.  I 
am  entitled  to  know  why  I  fight  and  against  whom. 
I  ask  your  sense  of  fairness  as  a  soldier  if  I  am  not 
right?" 

The  General  hesitated,  and  finally  said,  as  he  opened 
the  door: 

"Walk  into  the  parlour." 

When  they  were  seated,  Gaston  plunged  immediately 
into  the  question  he  had  at  heart. 

"Now,  General,  I  wish  to  ask  you  plainly  why  you 
have  treated  me  as  you  have  since  I  asked  you  for  your 
daughter's  hand?" 


360  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"The  less  said  about  it  the  better.  I  have  good  and 
sufficient  reasons,  and  that  settles  it." 

"But  I  have  the  right  to  know  them." 

"What  right?" 

"The  right  of  every  man  to  face  his  accuser  when  on 
trial  for  his  life." 

"Men  don't  die  nowadays  for  love,  or  women  either," 
the  General  growled. 

"Besides,"  continued  Gaston,  "you  are  under  the 
deepest  obligations  to  tell  me  fairly  your  reasons." 

"Obligations?" 

"The  obligations  of  the  commonest  justice  between 
man  and  man.  You  invited  me  to  your  home.  I  was 
your  welcome  guest.  You  encouraged  my  suit  for  your 
daughter's  hand." 

"How  dare  you  say  such  a  tiling,  sir?" 

"Because  she  told  me  you  did.  I  was  led  to  believe 
that  you  not  only  looked  with  favour  on  my  suit  but 
that  you  were  pleased  with  it.  I  asked  for  your  daughter. 
You  insulted  my  manhood  by  refusing  me  permission 
even  to  seek  an  interview,  and  know  the  reasons  for  your 
change  of  views.  Since  then  you  have  treated  me  with 
plain  brutality.  Now  something  caused  this  change." 

"Certainly  something  caused  it,  something  of  tremen 
dous  importance,"  said  the  General. 

"I  am  entitled  to  know  what  it  is." 

"Simply  this.  I  received  information  concerning 
you,  your  habits,  your  associates,  your  character  and 
your  family  that  caused  me  to  change  my  mind." 

"Did  you  inquire  as  to  their  truth?" 

"  It  was  unnecessary.  I  love  my  daughter  beyond  all 
other  treasures  I  possess.  With  her  future  I  will  take 
no  risks." 

"I  have  a  right  to  know  the  charges,  General," 
insisted  Gaston.  "I  demand  it." 


Face  to  Face  with  Fate  361 

""Well,  sir,  if  you  demand  it,  you  will  get  it.  I 
learned  that  you  are  a  man  of  the  most  dissolute  habits 
and  character,  that  you  are  a  hard  drinker,  a  gambler, 
a  rake  and  a  spendthrift,  and  that  your  family  history 
is  a  deplorable  one." 

"My  family  history  a  deplorable  one!"  cried  Gaston, 
springing  to  his  feet,  with  trembling,  clenched  fists  and 
scarlet  face,  on  which  the  blue  veins  suddenly  stood  out. 

"I  begged  you  to  spare  me  and  yourself  the  pain  of 
this,"  replied  the  General,  in  a  softer  voice. 

"  No,  I  do  not  ask  to  be  spared.  Give  me  the  particu 
lars.  What  is  the  stain  on  my  family  name?" 

"  Not  a  moral  one,  but  in  some  respects  more  hopeless, 
a  physical  one.  I  have  positive  information  that  your 
people  on  one  side  are  what  is  known  in  the  South  as 
poor  white  trash " 

Gaston  smiled.  "I  thank  you,  General,  for  your 
frankness.  The  only  wrong  of  which  I  complain  is 
your  withholding  the  name  of  the  liar." 

"There  is  no  use  of  a  fight  over  such  things.  I  do 
not  wish  my  daughter's  name  to  be  smirched  with  it." 

"Her  name  is  as  dear  to  me  as  it  cat*  possibly  be  to 
you.  Never  fear.  You  are  her  father ;  I  honour  you  as 
such.  I  thank  you  for  the  information.  I  scorn  to 
stoop  to  answer.  The  humour  of  it  forbids  an  answer  it 
I  could  stoop  to  make  one.  Now,  General,  I  make  you 
this  proposition.  I  am  not  in  a  hurry.  I  will  patiently 
wait  any  time  you  see  fit  to  set  for  any  developments  in 
my  life  and  character  about  which  you  have  doubts. 
All  I  ask  is  the  privilege  of  writing  to  the  woman  I  love. 
Is  this  not  reasonable?" 

"No,  sir,"  declared  the  General;  "I  will  not  have  it. 
You  are  not  in  a  position  to  make  me  a  proposition  of 
any  sort.  I  have  settled  this  affair.  It  is  not  open  fo* 
discussion." 


362  The  Leopard's*  Spots 

"You  mean  to  say  that  I  have  no  standing  whatever 
in  the  case?"  asked  Gaston  with  a  smile,  rubbing  his 
hand  over  his  smooth-shaved  lips  and  chin. 

"Exactly.  I've  settled  it.  There's  nothing  more  to 
be  sa'i;" 

"I'll  never  give  her  up.  She  is  the  one  woman  God 
made  for  me,  and  you  will  have  to  put  me  under  the 
ground  before  you  have  settled  my  end  of  it,"  said 
Gaston,  still  smiling. 

The  old  man's  face  clouded  for  a  moment ;  he  wrinkled 
his  brow,  drew  his  bushy  eyebrows  closer,  and  then . 
turned  toward  Gaston  in  a  persuasive  way. 

"  Look  here,  Gaston,  don't  be  a  fool.  It's  amusing  to 
me  to  hear  a  youngster  talk  such  drivel.  Love  is  not  a 
fatal  disease  for  a  man  or  a  woman.  You  will  find  that 
out  later  if  you  don't  know  it  now.  I  loved  a  half-dozen 
girls,  and  when  I  got  ready  to  marry  I  asked  the  one 
handiest  and  that  seemed  most  suited  to  my  temper. 
We  married  and  have  lived  as  happily  as  the  romancers. 
The  world  is  full  of  pretty  girls.  Go  on  about  your 
business  and  quit  bothering  me  and  mine." 

"There's  only  one  girl  for  me,  General." 

"That's  proof  positive  to  my  mind  that  you  are  a  little 
cracked,"  he  answered,  with  a  smile. 

Gaston  laughed  and  shook  his  head.  "I'll  never  give 
her  up  in  this  world,  or  the  next,"  he  doggedly  added. 

Again  the  General  frowned.  "Look  here,  young 
man,  did  it  ever  occur  to  you  that  your  pursuit  might 
be  held  the  work  of  a  low  adventurer  ?  My  daughter  is  an 
heiress.  You  haven't  a  dollar.  Don't  you  know  that 
I  will  disinherit  her  if  she  marries  without  my  consent  ? " 

"You  can't  frighten  me  on  that  tack,"  answered 
Gaston,  firmly.  "No  dollar  mark  has  yet  been  placed 
on  the  doors  of  Southern  society.  Manhood,  character 
and  achievement  are  the  keys  that  unlock  it.  You  know 


Face  to  Face  with  Fate  363 

that,  and  I  know  it.  I  was  poorer  and  more  obscure  the 
day  you  first  invited  me  here  than  to-day.  And  yet  you 
gave  me  as  hearty  a  welcome  as  her  richest  suitor.  All 
I  ask  is  time  to  prove  to  you  in  my  life  my  manhood  and 
worth — one  year,  two  years,  five  years,  ten  years,  any 
time  you  see  fit  to  name." 

"No,  sir,"  firmly  snapped  the  General;  "not  a  day.  1 
don't  like  long  engagements.  Yours  is  ended,  once  and 
for  all  time.  I  have  settled  that." 

"Can  even  a  father  decide  the  destiny  of  two  immortal 
souls  offhand  like  that?" 

"Now  you  are  assuming  too  much.  I  am  not 
speaking  for  myself  alone.  I  have  laid  all  the  facts 
carefully  before  'Sallie  and  she  has  agreed  to  the  wisdom 
of  my  decision  and  asked  me  to  represent  her  in  what 
I  say  this  evening." 

Gaston  turned  pale,  his  lips  quivered,  and,  turning  to 
the  General  suddenly,  he  said: 

"That  is  the  only  important  fact  you  have  laid  before 
me.  Just  let  her  come  here,  stand  by  your  side  and 
say  that  with  her  own  lips,  and  I  will  never  cross  your 
path  in  life  again." 

The  General  hung  his  head  and  stammered:  "No;  it 
is  not  necessary.  It  will  embarrass  and  humiliate  her. 
I  will  not  permit  it." 

"Then  I  deny  ycur  credentials!"  exclaimed  Gaston. 

The  General  seemed  emban-assed  by  the  failure  of 
this  fatherly  subterfuge,  and  Gastor  could  not  help 
smiling  at  the  revelation  of  his  weakness.  He  decided 
to  press  his  advantage  and  try  to  see  her  if  only  for  a 
moment. 

"General,"  protested  Gaston,  persuasively,  "I  appeal 
to  your  sense  of  courtesy,  even  to  an  enemy.  After  all 
that  has  passed  between  us  in  this  house,  is  it  fair  or 
Courteous  to  show  me  that  door  without  one  word  of 


364  The  Leopard's  Spots 

farewell  to  the  woman  to  whom  I  have  given  my  life? 
Or  is  it  wise  from  your  point  of  view?" 

Again  the  General  hesitated.  He  was  a  big-hearted 
man  of  generous  impulses,  and  he  felt  worsted  in  this 
interview  somehow,  but  it  was  hard  to  deny  such  a 
request.  He  fumbled  at  his  watch-chain,  arose  and 
said: 

"I  will  see  if  she  desires  it." 

Gaston's  heart  bounded  with  joy.  If  she  desired  it ! 
He  could  feel  her  soul  enveloping  him  with  its  love  as 
he  sat  there  conscious  that  she  was  so:  icwhere  in  that 
house  praying  for  him. 

He  fairly  choked  with  pain  and  the  joy  of  the  certainty 
that  in  a  moment  he  would  be  near  her,  touch  her 
hand,  see  her  glorious  beauty  and  his  ears  drink  the 
music  of  her  voice. 

"Just  step  this  way,"  said  the  General,  reappearing 
at  the  door. 

Gaston  walked  into  the  hall  and  met  Sallie  as  she 
emerged  from  the  library  door  opposite.  He  tried  to 
say  something,  but  his  throat  was  dry  and  his  tongue 
paralysed  with  the  wonder  of  her  presence.  Besides, 
the  General  stood  grimly  by  like  a  guard  over  a  life 
prisoner. 

He  looked  searchingly  into  her  eyes  as  he  held  her 
hand  for  a  moment  and  felt  its  warm  impulsive  pressure. 
Oh,  the  eyes  of  the  woman  we  love !  What  are  words 
to  their  language  of  melting  tenderness,  of  faith  and 
longing?  Gaston  felt  like  shouting  in  the  General's 
face  his  triumph.  She  tried  to  speak,  but  only  pressed 
his  hand  again.  It  was  enough. 

He  bowed  to  the  General,  and  left  without  a  word. 


CHAPTER  III 
A    WHITE     LIE 

THAT  night  as  he  walked  back  through  the  streets 
he  was  thrilled  with  a  sense  of  strength  and  of 
triumph.  He  knew  his  ground  now.  There 
was  to  be  war  between  him  and  the  General  to  the  bitter 
end.  He  had  never  asked  her  once  to  oppose  her 
father's  or  mother's  command.  Now  he  would  see  who 
was  master  in  a  test  of  strength.  And  he  was  eager  for 
the  struggle.  His  mind  was  alert,  and  every  nerve  and 
muscle  tense  with  energy. 

"Heavens,  how  hungry  I  am  ! "  he  exclaimed,  when  he 
reached  the  brilliantly  lighted  business  portion  of  the 
city. 

He  went  into  a  restaurant,  ordered  a  steak,  and 
enjoyed  a  good  meal.  He  recalled  then  that  he  had  not 
eaten  for  twenty-four  hours.  The  steak  was  good,  and 
the  faces  of  the  people  seemed  to  him  lit  with  gladness. 
He  was  singing  a  battle-song  in  his  soul,  and  the  eyes  of 
the  woman  he  loved  looked  at  him  with  yearning 
tenderness. 

"Now,  Bob,  I  count  on  you,"  he  cried  to  his  friend 
next  morning.  "I  am  going  to  have  a  merry  Christmas 
and  you  are  to  aid  in  the  skirmishing." 

"I'm  with  you  to  the  finish!"  Bob  responded,  with 
enthusiasm. 

"We  must  make  a  feint  this  morning  to  deceive  the 
enemy  while  I  turn  his  flank.  I  go  home  on  the  nine 
o'clock  train.  You  understand?" 

365 


366  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"Yes,  over  the  left.  It's  dead  easy,  too.  There's  to 
be  a  big  Christmas  party  to-night  at  the  Alexanders'. 
She's  invited.  I'll  see  that  she  goes  to  it  if  I  have  to 
drag  her." 

"Good.  Don't  tell  her  I'm  in  town.  I  want  to 
surprise  her." 

The  General  had  a  man  at  the  morning  train  who 
reported  Gaston's  departure.  He  was  surprised  at 
Sallie's  good  spirits,  but  attributed  it  to  the  magnificent 
present  he  had  given  her  that  morning  of  a  diamond 
ring  and  an  exquisite  pearl  necklace. 

He  bustled  her  off  to  the  party  that  night  and  con 
gratulated  himself  on  the  certainty  of  his  triumph  over 
an  aspiring  youngster  who  dared  to  set  his  will  against 
his  own. 

When  the  festivities  had  begun,  and  the  children  were 
busy  with  their  fireworks,  Sallie  strolled  along  the 
winding  walks  of  the  big  lawn.  She  was  chatting  with 
Bob  St.  Clare  about  a  young  man  they  both  knew,  and 
when  they  reached  the  corner  farthest  from  the  house, 
under  the  shadows  of  a  great  magnolia  with  low,  over 
hanging  boughs,  she  saw  the  figure  of  a  man. 

She  smiled  into  Bob's  face,  pressed  his  hand  and  said: 

"Now,  Bob,  you've  done  all  a  good  friend  could  do. 
Go  back.  I  don't  need  you." 

And  Bob  answered  with  a  smile  and  left  her.  In  a 
moment  Gaston  was  by  her  side  with  both  her  hands  in 
his  kissing  them  tenderly. 

"Didn't  I  surprise  you,  dear?"  he  softly  asked. 

"No.  Bob  denied  you  were  here,  but  I  knew  it  was 
a  story.  I  was  sure  you  would  never  leave  without 
seeing  me.  You  couldn't,  could  you?" 

"Not  after  what  I  saw  in  your  eyes  last  night!"  he 
whispered. 

"It  seems  a  century  since  I've  heard  your  voice," 


A  White  Lie  367 

she  said,  wistfully.  "God  alone  knows  what  I  have 
suffered,  and  I  am  growing  weary  of  it." 

"Do  you  think  I  have  been  treated  fairly?"  he  asked. 

"No,  I  do  not." 

"Then  you  will  write  to  me?" 

"Yes.  I  will  not  starve  my  heart  any  longer."  And 
she  pressed  his  hand. 

"You  have  made  the  world  glorious  again!  When 
will  you  marry  me,  Sallie?"  he  bent  his  face  close  to 
her,  and  for  an  answer  she  tenderly  kissed  him.  . 

They  stood  in  silence  a  moment  with  clasped  hands, 
and  then  she  said,  slowly:  "You  didn't  want  your  free 
dom,  did  you,  dear?  That's  the  third  kiss,  isn't  it?  I 
wonder  if  kissing  will  be  always  as  sweet !  But  you 
asked  me  when  we  can  marry?  I  can't  tell  now.  I 
can  do  nothing  to  shock  Mamma.  She  seems  to  draw 
closer  and  closer  to  me  every  day.  And  now  that  I 
have  determined  no  power  shall  separate  us,  it  seems 
more  and  more  necessary  that  I  shall  win  Papa's  consent. 
He  loves  me  dearly.  I  feel  that  I  must  have  his  blessing 
on  our  lives.  Give  me  time.  I  hope  to  win  him." 

"And  you  will  never  let  another  week  pass  without 
writing  to  me?" 

"Never.  Send  my  letters  to  Bob.  He  loves  you 
better  than  he  ever  thought  he  loved  me.  He  will  give 
them  to  me  on  Sundays  at  church,  and  when  he  calls." 

For  two  hours  the  kindly  mantle  of  the  magnolia 
sheltered  them  while  they  told  the  old,  sweet  story  over 
and  over  again.  And  somehow  that  night  it  seemed  to 
them  sweeter  each  time  it  was  told. 


CHAPTER  IV 
THE  UNSPOKEN  TERROR 

WHEN  Gaston  reached  Hambright  the  following 
day  and  whispered  to  his  mother  the  good 
news,  he  hastened  to  tell  his  friend,  Tom 
Camp.  The  young  man's  heart  warmed  toward  the 
white-haired  old  soldier  in  this  hour  of  his  victory.  With 
sparkling  eyes  he  told  Tom  of  his  stormy  scene  with 
the  General,  of  its  curious  ending,  and  the  hours  he 
spent  in  heaven  beneath  the  limbs  of  an  old  magnolia. 
Tom  listened  with  rapture.  "Ah,  didn't  I  tell  you 
if  you  hung  on  you'd  get  her  by  and  by?  So  you 
bearded  the  General  in  his  den,  did  you?  I'll  bet  his 
eyes  blazed  when  he  seed  you!  He's  got  an  awful 
temper  when  you  rile  him.  You  ought  to  a-seed  him 
one  day  when  our  brigade  was  ordered  into  a  charge 
where  three  concealed  batteries  was  cross-firm'  and  men 
was  fallin*  like  wheat  under  the  knife.  Geeminy,  but 
didn't  he  cuss !  He  wouldn't  take  the  order  fust  from 
the  orderly,  and  sent  to  know  if  the  Major-General  meant 
it.  I  tell  you  us  fellers  that  was  layin'  there  in  the  grass 
listenin'  to  them  bullets  singin'  thought  he  was  the 
finest  cusser  that  ever  ripped  an  oath. 

"He  reared  and  he  charged  and  he  cussed,  and  he 
damned  that  man  for  tryin'  to  butcher  his  men,  and  he 
never  moved  till  the  third  order  came.  That  was  the 
night  ten  thousand  wounded  men  lay  on  the  field,  and 
me  in  the  middle  of  'em  with  a  Minie"  ball  in  my  shoulder. 
The  Yankees  and  our  men  was  all  mixed  up  together, 

368 


The  Unspoken  Terror  309 

and  just  after  dark  the  full  moon  came  up  through 
the  trees  and  you  could  see  as  plain  as  day.  I  begun  to 
sing  the  old  hymn,  'There  is  a  land  of  pure  delight,' 
and  you  ought  to  have  heard  them  ten  thousand 
wounded  men  sing! 

"While  we  was  singing  the  General  came  through 
lookin'  up  his  men.  He  seed  me  and  said: 

"'Is  that  you,  Tom  Camp?' 

"I  looked  up  at  him,  and  he  was  crying  like  a  child, 
and  he  went  on  from  man  to  man  cryin'  and  cussin'  the 
fool  that  sent  us  into  that  hell-hole.  The  General's  a 
rough  man  if  you  rub  his  fur  the  wrong  way,  but  his 
heart's  all  right.  He's  all  gold,  I  tell  you." 

"Well,  I'm  in  for  a  tussle  with  him,  Tom." 

"Shucks,  man,  you  can  beat  him  with  one  hand  tied 
behind  you  if  you've  got  his  gal's  heart.  She's  got  his 
fire,  and  a  gal  as  purty  as  she  is  can  just  about  do  what 
she  pleases  in  this  world." 

"  I  hope  she  can  bring  him  around.  I  like  the  General. 
I'd  much  rather  not  fight  him." 

"Where's  Flora  ? "  cried  Tom,  looking  around  in  alarm. 

"I  saw  her  going  toward  the  spring  in  the  edge  of 
the  woods  there  a  minute  ago,"  replied  Gaston. 

Tom  sprang  up  and  began  to  hop  and  jump  down  the 
path  toward  the  spring  with  incredible  rapidity. 

Flora  was  playing  in  the  branch  below  the  spring  and 
Tom  saw  the  form  of  a  negro  man  passing  over  the 
opposite  hill,  going  along  the  spring  path  that  led  in 
that  direction. 

"Was  you  talkin'  with  that  nigger,  Flora?"  asked 
Tom,  holding  his  hand  on  his  side  and  trying  to  recover 
his  breath. 

"Yes,  I  said  '  Howdy !'  when  he  stopped  to  get  a  drink 
of  water,  and  he  give  me  a  whistle,"  she  replied,  with 
a  pout  of  her  pretty  lips  and  a  frown. 


370  The  Leopard's  Spots 

Tom  seized  her  by  the  arm  and  shook  her.  "  Didn't 
I  tell  you  to  run  every  time  you  seed  a  nigger,  unless  I 
was  with  you!" 

"  Yes,  but  he  wasn't  hurting  me,  and  you  are !  " 
she  cried,  bursting  into  tears. 

"I've  a  notion  to  whip  you  good  for  this  I"  Tom 
stormed. 

"Don't,  Tom;  she  won't  do  it  any  more,  will  you, 
Flora?"  pleaded  Gaston,  taking  her  in  his  arms  and 
starting  to  the  house  with  her.  When  they  reached  the 
house  Tom  was  still  pale  and  trembling  with  excitement. 

"Lord,  there's  so  many  triflin'  niggers  loafin'  round 
the  country  now  stealing  and  doin*  all  sorts  of  devilment, 
I'm  scared  to  death  about  that  child.  She  don't  seem 
any  more  afraid  of  'em  than  she  is  of  a  cat." 

"I  don't  believe  anybody  would  hurt  Flora,  Tom — 
she's  such  a  little  angel,"  said  Gaston,  kissing  the  tears 
from  the  child's  face. 

"She  is  cute — ain't  she ? "  said  Tom,  with  pride.  " I've 
wished  many  a  time  lately  I'd  gone  out  West  with  them 
Yankee  fellers  that  took  such  a  likin'  to  me  in  the  war. 
They  told  me  that  a  poor  white  man  had  a  chance  out 
there,  and  that  there  weren't  a  nigger  in  twenty  miles  of 
their  home.  But  then  I  lost  my  leg — how  could  I 
go  then?" 

'  He  sat  dreaming  with  open  eyes  for  a  moment  and 
'continued,  looking  tenderly  at  Flora,  "  But,  baby,  don't 
you  dare  go  nigh  er  nigger,  or  let  one  get  nigh  you,  no 
more'n  you  would  a  rattlesnake ! " 

"I  won't,  Pappy!"  she  cried,  with  an  incredulous 
smile  at  his  warning  of  danger  that  made  Tom's  heart 
sick.  She  was  all  joy  and  laughter,  full  of  health  and 
bubbling  life.  She  believed  with  a  child's  simple  faith 
that  all  nature  was  as  innocent  as  her  own  heart. 

Tom  smoothed  her  curls  and  kissed  her  at  last,  and 


The  Unspoken  Terror  371 

she  slipped  her  arm  around  his  neck  and  squeezed  it 
tight. 

"Ain't  she  purty  and  sweet  now?"  he  exclaimed. 

"Tom,  you'll  spoil  her  yet,"  warned  Gaston  as  he 
smiled  and  took  his  leave,  throwing  a  kiss  to  Flora  as  he 
passed  through  the  little  yard  gate.  Tom  had  built 
a  fence  close  around  his  house  when  Flora  was  a  baby, 
to  shut  her  in  while  he  was  at  work. 

Two  days  later  about  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  as 
Gaston  sat  in  his  office  writing  a  letter  to  his  sweetheart, 
his  face  aglow  with  love  and  the  certainty  that  she  was 
his  as  he  read  and  reread  her  last  glowing  words  he  was 
startled  by  the  sudden  clang  of  the  court-house  bell.  At 
first  he  did  not  move,  only  looking  up  from  his  paper. 
Sometimes  mischievous  boys  rang  the  bell  and  ran  down 
the  steps  before  any  one  could  catch  them.  But  the  bell 
Continued  its  swift  stroke,  seeming  to  grow  louder  and 
gilder  every  moment.  He  saw  a  man  rush  across  the 
square,  and  then  the  bell  of  the  Methodist  and  then  of 
the  Baptist  churches  joined  their  clamour  to  the  alarm. 

He  snapped  the  lid  of  his  desk,  snatched  his  hat  and 
ran  down  the  steps. 

As  he  reached  the  street  he  heard  the  long,  piercing 
cry  of  a  woman's  voice,  high,  strenuous,  quivering: 

"A  lost  child!    A  lost  child!" 

What  a  cry  (  He  was  never  so  thrilled  and  awed  by 
a  human  voice.  In  it  was  trembling  all  the  anguish  of 
every  mother's  broken  heart  transmitted  through  the 
centuries. 

At  the  court-house  door  an  excited  group  had  gathered. 
A  man  was  standing  on  the  steps  gesticulating  wildly 
and  telling  the  crowd  all  he  knew  about  it.  Over  the 
din  he  caught  the  name, 

"Tom  Camp's  Flora!" 

He  breathed  hard,  bit  his  lips,  and  prayed  instinctively. 


372  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"  Lord  have  mercy  on  the  poor  old  man  !  It  will  kill 
him."  A  great  fear  brooded  over  the  hearts  of  the 
crowd,  and  soon  the  tumult  was  hushed  into  an  awed 
silence. 

In  Gaston's  heart  that  fear  became  a  horrible  cer 
tainty  from  the  first.  Within  a  half-hour  a  thousand 
white  people  were  in  the  crowd.  Gaston  stood  among 
them,  cool  and  masterful,  organising  them  in  search 
ing  parties,  and  giving  to  each  group  the  signals 
to  be  used. 

In  a  moment  the  white  race  had  fused  into  a  homo 
geneous  mass  of  love,  sympathy,  hate  and  revenge. 
The  rich  and  the  poor,  the  learned  and  the  ignorant, 
the  banker  and  the  blacksmith,  the  great  and  the  small, 
they  were  all  one  now.  The  sorrow  of  that  old  one- 
legged  soldier  was  the  sorrow  of  all;  every  heart  beat 
with  his,  and  his  life  was  their  life,  and  his  child 
their  child. 

But  at  the  end  of  an  hour  there  was  not  a  Negro 
among  them !  By  some  subtle  instinct  they  had 
recognised  the  secret  feelings  and  fears  of  the  crowd 
and  had  disappeared.  Had  they  been  beasts  of  the 
field  the  gulf  between  them  would  not  have  been  deeper. 

When  Gaston  reached  Tom's  house  the  crowd  was 
divided  into  the  groups  agreed  upon  and  a  signal  gun 
given  to  each.  If  the  child  was  not  dead  when  found 
two  should  be  fired — if  dead,  but  one. 

He  sought  Tom  to  be  sure  there  was  no  mistake  and 
that  the  child  had  not  fallen  asleep  about  the  house. 
He  found  the  old  man  shut  up  in  his  room  kneeling  in 
the  middle  of  the  floor  praying. 

When  Gaston  laid  his  hand  gently  on  his  shoulder 
his  lips  ceased  to  move,  and  he  looked  at  him  in  a  dazed 
sort  of  way  at  first  without  speaking. 

"Oh — it's  you,  Charlie  !"  he  sighed. 


The  Unspoken  Terror  373 

r'  "Yes,  Tom  !  Tell  me  quick.  Are  you  sure  she  is 
nowhere  in  the  house  ? " 

"Sure?  Sure?"  he  cried  in  a  helpless  stare.  "Yes, 
yes,  I  found  her  bonnet  at  the  spring.  I  looked  every 
where  for  an  hour  before  I  called  the  neighbours." 

"Then  I'm  off  with  the  searchers.  The  signal  is  two 
guns  if  they  find  her  alive.  One  gun  if  she  is  dead. 
You  will  understand." 

"Yes,  Charlie,"  answered  the  old  soldier  in  a  far-away 
tone'of  voice,  "and  don't  forget  to  help  me  pray  while 
you  look  for  her." 

"  I've  tried  already,  Tom,"  he  answered,  as  he  pressed 
his  hand  and  left  the  house.  All  night  long  the  search 
continued  and  no  signal  gun  was  heard.  Torches  and 
lanterns  gleamed  from  every  field  and  wood,  byway  and 
hedge  for  miles  in  every  direction. 

Through  every  hour  of  this  awful  night  Tom  Camp 
was  in  his  room  praying — his  face  now  streaming  with 
tears,  now  dry  and  white  with  the  unspoken  terror  that 
could  stop  the  beat  of  his  heart.  His  white  hair  and 
snow-white  beard  were  dishevelled  as  he  unconsciously 
tore  them  with  his  trembling  hands.  Now  he  was  crying 
in  an  agony  of  intensity: 

"As  thy  servant  of  old  wrestled  with  the  angel  of  the 
Lord  through  the  night,  so,  oh  God,  will  I  lie  at  Thy  feet 
and  wrestle  and  pray  !  I  will  not  let  Thee  go  until  Thou 
bless  me.  Though  I  perish,  let  her  live.  I  have  lost  all 
and  praise  Thee  still.  Lord,  Thou  canst  not  leave  me 
desolate !" 

From  the  pain  of  his  wound  and  the  exhaustion  of 
soul  and  body  he  fainted  once  with  his  lips  still  moving 
in  prayer.  For  more  than  an  hour  he  lay  as  one  dead. 
When  he  revived,  he  looked  at  his  clock,  and  it  was  but 
an  hour  till  dawn. 

Again  he  fell  on  his  knees,  and  again  the  broken 


374  The  Leopard's  Spots 

accents  of  his  husky  voice  could  be  heard  wrestling 
with  God.  Now  he  would  beg  and  plead  like  a  child, 
and  then  he  would  rise  in  the  unconscious  dignity  of  ai> 
immortal  soul  in  combat  with  the  powers  of  the  infinite, 
and  his  language  was  in  the  sublime  speech  of  the  old 
Hebrew  seers. 

Just  before  the  sun  rose  the  signal  gun  pealed  its 
message  of  life,  ONE !  TWO !  in  rapid  succession. 

Tom  sprang  to  his  feet  with  blazing  eyes.  One! 
Two!  echoed  the  guns  from  another  hill,  and  fainter 
grew  its  repeated  call  from  group  to  group  of  the 
searchers. 

"There!  Glory  to  God!"  He  screamed  at  the  top 
of  his  voice,  the  last  note  of  his  triumphant  shout 
breaking  into  sobs.  "God  be  praised!  I  knew  they 
would  find  her!  She's  not  dead;  she's  alive!  alive! 
Oh,  my  soul,  lift  up  thy  head ! " 

The  tramp  of  swift  feet  was  heard  at  the  door  and 
Gaston  told  him  with  husky,  stammering  voice: 

"She's  alive,  Tom,  but  unconscious.  I'll  have  her 
brought  to  the  house.  She  was  found  just  where  your 
spring  branch  runs  into  the  Flat  Rock,  not  five  hundred 
yards  from  here  in  those  woods.  Stay  where  you  are. 
We  will  bring  her  in  a  minute." 

Gaston  bounded  back  to  the  scene. 

Tom  paid  no  attention  to  his  orders  to  stay  at  home, 
but  sprang  after  him,  jumping  and  falling  and  scrambling 
up  again  as  he  followed.  Before  they  knew  it  he  was 
upon  the  excited,  tearful  group  that  stood  in  a  circle 
around  the  child's  body. 

Gaston,  who  was  standing  on  the  opposite  side  from 
Tom's  approach,  saw  him  and  shouted:  • 

"My  God,  men,  stop  him!  Don't  let  him  see  her 
yet!" 

But  Tom  was  too  quick  for  them.     He  brushed  aside 


The  Unspoken  Terror  375 

the  boy  who  caught  at  him,  as  though  a  feather,  crying 
"Stand  back!" 

The  circle  of  men  fell  away  from  the  body  and  in  a 
moment  Tom  stood  over  it  transfixed  with  horror. 

Flora  lay  on  the  ground  with  her  clothes  torn  to 
shreds  and  stained  with  blood.  Her  beautiful  yellow 
curls  were  matted  across  her  forehead  in  a  dark-red 
lump  beside  a  wound  where  her  skull  had  been  crushed. 
The  stone  lay  at  her  side,  the  crimson  mark  of  her  life 
showing  on  its  jagged  edges. 

With  that  stone  the  brute  had  tried  to  strike  the 
death  blow.  She  was  lying  on  the  edge  of  the  hill  with 
her  head  up  the  incline.  It  was  too  plain,  the  terrible 
crime  that  had  been  committed. 

The  poor  father  sank  beside  her  body  with  an  inarticu 
late  groan  as  though  some  one  had  crushed  his  head 
with  an  axe.  He  seemed  dazed  for  a  moment,  and, 
looking  around,  he  shouted  hoarsely: 

"The  doctor,  boys!  The  doctor,  quick!  For  God's 
sake,  quick !  She's  not  dead  yet — we  may  save  her ! 
Help  !  Help  !"  he  sank  again  to  the  ground,  limp  and 
faint  from  pain,  and  was  soon  insensible. 

Gaston  gathered  the  child  tenderly  in  his  arms  and 
carried  her  to  the  house.  The  men  hastily  made  a 
stretcher  and  carried  Tom  behind  him. 


CHAPTER  V 
A  THOUSAND-LEGGED  BEAST 

WHILE  Gaston  and  the  men  were  carrying  Flora 
and  Tom  to  the  house,  another  searching 
party  was  formed.  There  were  no  women 
and  children  among  them,  only  grim-visaged,  silent  men 
and  a  pair  of  little  mild-eyed,  sharp-nosed  bloodhounds. 
All  the  morning  men  were  coming  in  from  the  country 
and  joining  this  silent  army  of  searchers. 

Doctor  Graham  came,  looked  long  and  gravely  at 
Flora  and  turned  a  sad  face  toward  Tom. 

The  old  soldier  grasped  his  arm  before  l^e  spoke. 

"Now,  Doctor,  wait — don't  say  a  word  yet.  I  don't 
want  to  know  the  truth,  if  it's  the  worst.  Don't  kill 
me  in  a  minute.  Let  me  live  as  long  as  there's  breath 
in  her  body — after  that — well,  that's  the  end — there's 
nothin'  after  that ! " 

The  Doctor  started  to  speak. 

"Wait,"  pleaded  Tom,  "let  me  tell  you  something. 
I've  been  praying  all  night.  I've  seen  God  face  to  face. 
She  can't  die.  He  told  me  so " 

He  paused,  and  his  grip  on  the  Doctor's  arm  relaxed 
as  though  he  were  about  to  faint,  but  he  rallied. 

The  kindly  old  Doctor  said  gently,  "Sit  down,  Tom." 

He  tried  to  lead  Tom  away  from  the  bed,  but  he  held 
on  like  a  bulldog. 

The  child  breathed  heavily  and  moaned. 

Tom's  face  brightened.  "She's  comin'  to,  Doctor — 
thank  God!" 

376 


A  Thousand-Legged  Beast  377 

The  Doctor  paid  no  more  attention  to  him  and  went 
on  with  his  work  as  best  he  could. 

Tom  laid  his  tear-stained  face  close  to  hers,  and 
murmured  soothingly  to  her  as  he  used  to  when  she 
was  a  wee  baby  in  his  arms: 

"There,  there,  honey,  it  will  be  all  right  now!  The 
Doctor's  here,  and  he'll  do  all  he  can.  And  what  he 
can't  do,  God  will.  The  Doctor'll  save  you.  God  will 
save  you.  He  loves  you.  He  loves  me.  I  prayed  all 
night.  He  heard  me.  I  saw  the  shinin'  glory  of  His 
face.  He's  only  tryin'  His  poor,  old  servant." 

The  broken  artery  was  found  and  tied  and  the  bleeding 
stopped.  When  the  wound  in  her  head  was  dressed 
the  Doctor  turned  to  Tom: 

"That  wound  is  bad,  but  not  necessarily  fatal." 

"Praise  God!" 

"Keep  the  house  quiet  and  don't  let  her  see  a  strange 
face  when  she  regains  consciousness,"  was  his  parting 
injunction. 

The  next  morning  her  breathing  was  regular,  and 
pulse  stronger,  but  feverish;  and  about  seven  o'clock 
she  came  out  of  her  comatose  state  and  regained  con 
sciousness.  She  spoke  but  once,  and  apparently  at 
the  sound  of  her  own  voice  immediately  went  into  a 
convulsion,  clenching  her  little  fists,  screaming,  and 
calling  to  her  father  for  help. 

When  Tom  first  heard  that  awful  cry  and  saw  her 
terrified  eyes  and  drawn  face  he  tried  to  cover  his  own 
eyes  and  stop  his  ears.  Then  he  gathered  the  little 
convulsed  body  into  his  arms  and  crooned  into  her  ears  : 

"There,  Papy's  baby,  don't  cry!  Papy's  got  you 
now.  Nothin'  can  hurt  you.  There,  there,  nothin' 
shall  come  nigh  you!" 

He  covered  her  face  with  tears  and  kisses,  while  he 
whispered  and  soothed  her  to  sleep.  When  the  noon 


378  The  Leopard's  Spots 

train  came  up  from  Independence,  General  Worth 
arrived.  Tom  had  asked  Gaston  to  telegraph  for  him 
in  his  name. 

Tom  eagerly  grasped  his  hand.  "General,  I  knowed 
you'd  come — you're  a  man  to  tie  to.  I  never  knowed 
you  to  fail  me  in  your  life.  You're  one  of  the  smartest 
men  in  the  world,  too.  You  never  got  us  boys  in  a  hole 
so  deep  you  didn't  pull  us  out " 

"What  can  I  do  for  you?"  interrupted  the  General. 

"Ah,  now's  the  worst  of  all,  General.  I'm  in  water 
too  deep  for  me.  My  baby,  the  last  one  left  on  earth, 
the  apple  of  my  eye,  all  that  holds  my  old  achin'  body 
to  this  world — she's — about — to — die  !  I  can't  let  her. 
General,  you  must  save  her  for  me.  I  want  more 
doctors.  They  say  there's  a  great  doctor  at  Independ 
ence.  I  want  'em  all.  Tell  'em  it's  a  poor,  old  one- 
legged  soldier  who's  shot  all  to  pieces  and  lost  his  wife 
and  all  his  children — all  but  this  one  baby.  And  I 

can't  lose  her !  They'll  come,  if  you  ask  'em "  His 

voice  broke. 

"I'll  do  it,  Tom.  I'll  have  them  here  on  a  special  in 
three  hours,  or  maybe  sooner,"  returned  the  General, 
pressing  his  hand  and  hurrying  to  the  telegraph  office. 

The  doctors  arrived  at  three  o'clock  and  held  a 
consultation  with  Doctor  Graham.  They  decided  that 
the  loss  of  blood  had  been  so  great  that  the  only  chance 
to  save  her  was  in  the  transfusion  of  blood. 

"I'll  give  her  the  blood,  Tom,"  said  Gaston,  quietly, 
removing  his  coat  and  baring  his  arm. 

The  old  soldier  looked  up  through  grateful  tears. 

"Next  to  the  General,  you're  the  best  friend  God 
ever  give  me,  boy ! " 

The  General  turned  his  face  away  and  looked  out  of 
the  window.  The  doctors  immediately  performed  the 
operation,  transfusing  blood  from  Gaston  into  the 


A  Thousand-Legged  Beast  379 

child.  The  results  did  not  seem  to  promise  what  they 
had  hoped.  Her  fever  rose  steadily.  She  became 
conscious  again  and  immediately  went  into  the  most 
fearful  convulsions,  breaking  the  torn  artery  a  second 
time. 

Just  as  the  sun  sank  behind  the  blue  mountain  peaks 
in  the  west  her  heart  fluttered  and  she  was  dead. 

Tom  sat  by  the  bed  for  two  hours,  looking,  looking, 
looking  with  wide,  staring  eyes  at  her  white,  dead  face. 
There  was  not  the  trace  of  a  tear.  His  mouth  was  set 
in  a  hard,  cold  way  and  he  never  moved  or  spoke. 

The  Preacher  tried  to  comfort  Tom,  who  stared  at  him 
as  though  he  did  not  recognise  him  at  first,  and  then 
slowly  began: 

"Go  away,  Preacher,  I  don't  want  to  see  or  talk 
to  you  now.  It's  all  a  swindle  and  a  lie.  There  is 
no  God!" 

"  Tom  !     Tom ! "  groaned  the  Preacher. 

"I  tell  you  I  mean  it,"  he  continued.  "I  don't  want 
any  more  of  God  or  His  heaven.  I  don't  want  to  see 
God.  For  if  I  should  see  Him,  I'd  shake  my  fist  in  His 
face  and  ask  Him  where  His  almighty  power  was  when 
my  poor  little  baby  was  screamin'  for  help  while  that 
damned  black  beast  was  tearin'  her  to  pieces !  Many 
and  many  a  time  I've  praised  God  when  I  read  the 
Bible  there  where  it  said,  not  a  sparrow  falleth  to  the 
ground  without  His  knowledge,  and  the  very  hairs  of 
our  head  are  numbered.  Well,  where  was  He  when  my 
little  bird  was  flutterin'  her  broken,  bleedin'  wings  in 
the  claws  of  that  stinkin'  baboon — damn  him  to  ever- 
lastin'  hell ! — It's  all  a  swindle,  I  tell  you  !" 

The  Preacher  was  watching  him  now  with  silent  pity 
and  tenderness. 

"What  a  lie  it  all  is !"  Tom  repeated.  "Scratch  my 
name  off  the  church  roll.  I  ain't  got  many  more  days 


380  The  Leopard's  Spots 

here,  but  I  won't  lie.  I'm  not  a  hypocrite.  I'm  going 
to  meet  God  cursin'  Him  to  His  face." 

The  Preacher  slipped  his  arm  around  the  old  soldier's 
neck,  and  smoothed  the  tangled  hair  back  from  his 
forehead  as  he  said,  brokenly: 

"Tom,  I  love  you.  My  whole  soul  is  melted  in 
sympathy  and  pity  for  you !" 

The  stricken  man  looked  up  into  the  face  of  his 
friend,  saw  his  tears  and  felt  the  warmth  of  his  love  flood 
his  heart,  and  at  last  he  burst  into  tears. 

"Oh,  Preacher,  Preacher!  you're  a  good  friend,  I 
know;  but  I'm  done.  I  can't  live  any  more !  Every 
minute,  day  and  night,  I'll  hear  them  awful  screams — 
her  a-callin'  me  for  help.  I  can  see  her  lyin'  out  there 
in  the  woods  all  night  alone,  moanin'  and  bleedin' !" 

His  breast  heaved  and  he  paused  as  if  in  reverie.  And 
then  he  sprang  up,  his  face  livid  and  convulsed  with 
volcanic  passion,  that  half  strangled  him  while  he 
shrieked : 

"Oh!  if  I  only  had  him  here  before  me  now,  and 
God  Almighty  would  give  me  strength  with  these  hands 
to  tear  his  breast  open  and  rip  his  heart  out !  I — 
could — eat — it — like — a — wolf  ! " 

When  they  reached  the  cemetery  the  next  day  and 
the  body  was  about  to  be  lowered  into  the  grave,  Tom 
suddenly  spied  old  Uncle  Reuben  Worth  leaning  on  his 
spade  by  the  edge  of  the  crowd.  Uncle  Reuben  was  the 
gravedigger  of  the  town  and  the  only  Negro  present. 

"Wait ! "  said  Tom,  raising  his  hand.  "  Don't  put  her 
in  that  grave.  A  nigger  dug  it.  I  can't  stand  it."  He 
turned  to  a  group  of  old  soldier  comrades  standing  by 
and  said: 

"  Boys,  humour  an  old  broken  man  once  more.  You'll 
dig  another  grave  for  me,  won't  you?  It  won't  take 


A  Thousand-Legged  Beast  381 

long.  The  folks  can  go  home  that  don't  want  to  stay. 
I  ain't  got  no  home  to  go  to  now  but  this  graveyard." 

His  comrades  filled  up  the  grave  that  Uncle  Reuben 
had  dug  and  opened  a  new  one  on  the  other  side  of  the 
graves  where  slept  his  other  loved  ones. 

Gaston  took  Tom  to  his  home  and  stayed  with  him 
several  hours,  trying  to  help  him.  He  seemed  to  have 
settled  into  a  stupor  from  which  nothing  could  rouse 
him.  When  at  length  the  old  man  fell  asleep,  Gaston 
softly  closed  the  door  and  returned  to  his  office  with  a 
heavy  heart. 

As  he  neared  the  center  of  the  town  he  heard  a 
murmur  like  the  distant  moaning  of  the  wind  in  the 
hush  that  comes  before  a  storm.  It  grew  louder  and 
louder  and  became  articulate  with  occasional  words  that 
seemed  far  away  and  unreal.  What  could  it  be  ?  He 
had  never  heard  such  a  sound  before.  Now  it  became 
clearer  and  the  murmur  was  the  tread  of  a  thousand 
feet  and  the  clatter  of  horses'  hoofs.  Not  a  cry  or  a 
shout  or  a  word.  Silence  and  hurrying  feet. 

Ah  I  He  knew  now.  It  was  the  searchers  returning,  a 
grim,  swaying,  voiceless  mob  with  one  black  figure  amid 
them.  They  were  swarming  into  the  court-house 
square  under  the  big  oak  where  an  informal  trial  was 
to  be  held. 

He  rushed  forward  to  protest  against  a  lynching.  He 
could  just  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  Negro's  head  swaying 
back  and  forth,  protesting  innocence  in  a  singing 
monotone  as  though  he  were  already  half  dead. 

He  pushed  his  way  roughly  through  the  excited  crowd 
to  the  center,  where  Hose  Norman,  the  leader,  stood 
w'lh  one  end  of  a  rope  in  his  hand  and  the  other  around 
the  Negro's  neck. 

The  Negro  turned  his  head  quickly  toward  the  move 
ment  made  by  the  crowd  as  Gaston  pressed  forward. 


382  The  Leopard's  Spots 

It  was  Dick. 

Dick  recognised  him  at  the  same  moment,  leaped 
toward  him  and  fell  at  his  feet  crying  and  pleading  as 
he  held  his  feet  and  legs. 

"Save  me,  Charlie!  I  nebber  done  it!  I  nebber 
done  it !  For  God's  sake  help  me !  Keep  'em  off ! 
Dey  gwine  burn  me  erlive !" 

Gaston  turned  to  the  crowd.  "  Men,  there's  not  one 
among  you  that  loved  that  old  soldier  and  his  girl  as  I 
did.  But  you  must  not  do  this  crime.  If  this  Negro  is 
guilty,  we  can  prove  it  in  that  court-house,  and  he  will 
pay  the  penalty  with  his  life.  Give  him  a  fair  trial " 

"That's  a  lawyer  talkin'  now!"  said  a  man  in  the 
crowd.  "We  know  that  tune.  The  lawyers  has  things 
their  own  way  in  a  court-house."  A  murmur  of  assent 
mingled  with  oaths  ran  through  the  crowd. 

"Fair  trial!"  sneered  Hose  Norman,  snatching  Dick 
from  the  ground  by  the  rope.  "Look  at  the  black 
devil's  clothes  splotched  all  over  with  her  blood.  We 
found  him  under  a  shelvin'  rock  where  he'd  got  by 
wadin*  up  the  branch  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  fool  the  dogs. 
We  found  his  track  in  the  sand  some  places  where  he 
missed  the  water,  and  tracked  him  clear  from  where  we 
found  Flora  to  the  cave  he  was  lying  in.  Fair  trial — 
hell !  We're  just  waitin'  for  er  can  o'  oil.  You  go 
back  and  read  your  law  books — we'll  tend  ter  this  devil." 

The  messenger  came  with  the  oil  and  the  crowd 
moved  forward.  Hose  shouted:  "Down  by  Tom 
Camp's,  by  his  spring;  down  the  spring  branch  to  the 
Flat  Rock  where  he  killed  her!" 

On  the  crowd  moved,  swaying  back  and  forth,  with 
Gaston  in  their  midst  by  Dick's  side  begging  for  a  fcir 
trial  for  him.  A  crowd  that  hurries  and  does  not  shout 
is  a  fearful  thing.  There  is  something  inhuman  in  its 
uncanny  silence. 


A  Thousand-Legged  Beast  383 

Gaston's  voice  sounded  strained  and  discordant. 
They  paid  no  more  attention  to  his  protest  than  to  the 
chirp  of  a  cricket. 

They  reached  the  spot  where  the  child's  body  had 
been  found.  They  tied  the  screaming,  praying  Negro 
to  a  live  pine  and  piled  around  his  body  a  great  heap  of 
dead  wood  and  saturated  it  with  oil.  And  then  they 
poured  oil  on  his  clothes. 

Gaston  looked  around  him,  begging  first  one  man  then 
another  to  help  him  fight  the  crowd  and  rescue  him. 
Not  a  hand  was  lifted  or  a  voice  raised  in  protest.  There 
was  not  a  Negro  among  them.  Not  only  was  no  Negro 
in  that  crowd,  but  there  was  not  a  cabin  in  all  that 
county  that  would  not  have  given  shelter  to  the  brute, 
though  they  knew  him  guilty  of  the  crime  charged 
against  him.  This  was  the  one  terrible  fact  that 
paralysed  Gaston's  efforts. 

Hose  Norman  stepped  forward  to  apply  a  match  and 
Gaston  grasped  his  arm. 

"For  God's  sake,  Hose,  wait  a  minute!"  he  begged. 
"Don't  disgrace  our  town,  our  county,  our  state  and 
our  claims  to  humanity  by  this  insane  brutality.  A 
beast  wouldn't  do  this.  You  wouldn't  kill  a  mad  dog 
or  a  rattlesnake  in  such  a  way.  If  you  will  kill  him, 
shoot  him  or  knock  him  in  the  head  with  a  rock — don't 
burn  him  alive!" 

Hose  glared  at  him  and  quietly  remarked: 

"Are  you  done  now?  If  you  are,  stand  out  of  the 
way!" 

He  struck  the  match  and  Dick  uttered  a  scream.  As 
Hose  leaned  forward  with  his  match  Gaston  knocked 
him  down,  and  a  dozen  stalwart  men  were  upon  him  in 
a  moment. 

"Knock  the  fool  in  the  head !"  one  shouted. 

"Pin  his  arms  behind  him!"  said  another. 


384  The  Leopard's  Spots 

Some  one  quickly  pinioned  his  arms  with  a  cord.  He 
stood  in  helpless  rage  and  pity,  and  as  he  saw  the  match 
applied,  bowed  his  head  and  burst  into  tears. 

He  looked  up  at  the  silent  crowd,  standing  there  like 
voiceless  ghosts,  with  renewed  wonder. 

Under  the  glare  of  the  light  and  the  tears  the  crowd 
seemed  to  melt  into  a  great  crawling,  swaying  creature, 
half  reptile,  half  beast,  half  dragon,  half  man,  with  a 
thousand  legs,  and  a  thousand  eyes,  and  ten  thousand 
gleaming  teeth,  and  with  no  ear  to  hear  and  no  heart 
to  pity! 

All  they  would  grant  him  was  the  privilege  of  gathering 
Dick's  ashes  and  charred  bones  for  burial. 

The  morning  following  the  lynching  the  Preacher 
hurried  to  Tom  Camp's  to  see  how  he  was  bearing  the 
strain. 

His  door  was  wide  open,  the  bureau  drawers  pulled 
out,  ransacked,  and  some  of  their  contents  were  lying 
on  the  floor. 

"Poor  old  fellow,  I'm  afraid  he's  gone  crazy!" 
exclaimed  the  Preacher.  He  hurried  to  the  cemetery. 
There  he  found  Tom  at  the  newly  made  grave.  He  had 
worked  through  the  night  and  dug  the  grave  open  with 
his  bare  hands  and  pulled  the  coffin  up  out  of  the  ground. 
He  had  broken  his  finger  nails  all  off  trying  to  open  it, 
and  his  fingers  were  bleeding.  At  last  he  had  given  up 
the  effort  to  open  the  coffin,  sat  down  beside  it,  and  was 
arranging  her  toys  he  had  made  for  her  beside  the  box. 
He  had  brought  a  lot  of  her  clothes,  a  pair  of  little 
shoes  and  stockings,  and  a  bonnet,  and  he  had  placed 
these  out  carefully  on  top  of  the  lid.  He  was  talking 
to  her. 

The  Preacher  lifted  him  gently  and  led  him  away,  a 
hopeless  madman. 


CHAPTER  VI 
THE    BLACK    PERIL 

THE  longer  Gaston  pondered  over  the  tragic  events 
of  that  lynching  the  more  sinister  and  terrible 
became  its  meaning  and  the  deeper  he  was 
plunged  in  melancholy. 

Beyond  all  doubt,  within  his  own  memory,  since  the 
Negroes  under  Legree's  lead  had  drawn  the  colour  line 
in  politics,  the  races  had  been  drifting  steadily  apart. 
The  gulf  was  now  impassable. 

Such  crimes  as  Dick  had  committed,  and  for  which 
he  had  paid  such  an  awful  penalty,  were  unknown 
absolutely  under  slavery,  and  were  unknown  for  two 
years  after  the  war.  Their  first  appearance  was  under 
Legree's  regime.  Now,  scarcely  a  day  passed  in  the 
South  without  the  record  of  such  an  atrocity,  swiftly 
followed  by  a  lynching,  and  lynching  thus  had  become 
the  punishment  for  all  grave  crimes. 

Since  McLeod's  triumph  in  the  state  such  crimes  had 
increased  with  alarming  rapidity.  The  encroachments 
of  Negroes  upon  public  offices  had  been  slow  but  resistless. 
Now  there  "were  nine  hundred  and  fifty  Negro  magistrates 
in  the  state,  elected  for  no  reason  except  the  colour  of 
their  skin.  Feeling  themselves  intrenched  behind  state 
and  Federal  power,  the  insolence  of  a  class  of  young 
Negro  men  was  becoming  more  and  more  intolerable. 
What  would  happen  to  these  fools  when  once  they  roused 
that  thousand-legged,  thousand-eyed  beast  with  its  ten 

385 


386  The  Leopard's  Spots 

thousand  teeth  and  nails  !  He  had  looked  into  its  face, 
and  he  shuddered  to  recall  the  hour. 

He  knew  that  this  power  of  racial  fury  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  when  aroused  was  resistless,  and  that  it  would 
sweep  its  victims  before  its  wrath  like  chaff  before  a 
whirlwind. 

And  then  he  thought  of  the  day  fast  coming  when  cul 
ture  and  wealth  would  give  the  African  the  courage  of 
conscious  strength  and  he  would  answer  that  soul- 
piercing  shriek  of  his  kindred  for  help,  and  that  other 
thousand-legged  beast,  now  crouching  *m  the 
shadows,  would  meet  thousand-legged  beast  around 
that  beacon  fire  of  a  Godless  revenge ! 

More  and  more  the  impossible  position  of  the  Negro 
in  America  came  home  to  his  mind.  He  was  fast  being 
overwhelmed  with  the  conviction  that  sooner  or  later  we 
must  squarely  face  the  fact  that  two  such  races,  count 
ing  millions  in  numbers,  cannot  live  together  under  a 
Democracy. 

He  recalled  the  fact  that  there  were  more  Negroes  in 
the  United  States  than  inhabitants  in  Mexico,  the 
third  republic  of  the  world. 

Amalgamation  simply  meant  Africanisation.  The  big 
nostrils,  flat  nose,  massive  jaw,  protruding  lip  and  kinky 
hair  will  register  their  animal  marks  over  the  proudest 
intellect  and  the  rarest  beauty  of  any  other  race.  The 
rule  that  had  no  exception  was  that  one  drop  of  Negro 
blood  makes  a  Negro. 

What  could  be  the  outcome  of  it?  What  was  his 
duty  as  a  citizen  and  a  member  of  civilised  society? 
Since  the  scenes  through  which  he  had  passed  with  Tom 
Camp  and  that  mob,  the  question  was  insistent  and 
personal.  It  clouded  his  soul  and  weighed  on  him 
like  the  horrors  of  a  nightmare. 

Again  and  again  the  fateful  words  the  Preacher  had 


The  Black  Peril  387 

dinned  into  his  ears  since  his  early  childhood  pressed 
upon  him: 

"You  cannot  build  in  a  Democracy  a  nation  inside 
a  nation  of  two  antagonistic  races.  The  future  American 
must  be  an  Anglo-Saxon  or  a  Mulatto" 

His  depression  and  brooding  over  the  fearful  events 
in  which  he  had  so  recently  taken  part  had  tinged  his 
life  and  all  its  hopes  with  sadness.  He  had  reflected 
this  in  his  letters  to  Sallie  Worth  without  even  mention 
ing  the  events.  His  heart  was  full  of  sickening  fore 
boding.  How  could  one  love  and  be  happy  in  a  world 
haunted  by  sucn  horrors !  He  had  begged  her  to  hasten 
her  hour  of  final  decision.  He  told  her  of  his  sense  of 
loneliness  and  isolation,  and  of  his  inexpressible  need 
of  her  love  and  presence  in  his  daily  life. 

Her  answer  had  only  intensified  his  moody  feelings. 
She  had  written  that  her  love  grew  stronger  every  day 
and  his  love  more  and  more  became  necessary  to  her  life, 
and  yet  she  could  not  cloud  its  future  with  the  anger  of 
her  father  and  the  broken  heart  of  her  mother  by  an 
elopement.  She  feared  such  a  shock  would  be  fatal  and 
all  her  life  would  be  embittered  by  it.  They  must  wait. 
She  was  using  all  her  skill  to  win  her  father,  but  as  yet 
without  success.  But  she  determined  to  win  him,  and  it 
would  be  so. 

All  this  seemed  far  away  and  shadowy  to  Gaston's 
eager,  restless  soul. 

The  letter  had  closed  by  saying  she  was  preparing  for 
another  trip  to  Boston  to  visit  Helen  Lowell  and  that 
she  should  be  absent  at  least  a  month.  She  asked  that 
his  next  letter  be  addressed  to  Boston. 

Somehow  Boston  seemed  just  then  out  of  the  world  on 
another  planet ;  it  was  so  far  away,  and  its  people  and 
their  life  so  unreal  to  his  imagination. 

But  he  sighed  and  turned  resolutely  to  his  work  of 


3-88  The  Leopard's  Spots 

preparation  for  an  event  in  his  life  which,  he  ">ieant  to 
make  great  in  the  history  of  the  state.  It  was  the  meet 
ing  of  the  Democratic  convention,  as  yet  nearly  two 
years  in  the  future.  He  held  a  subordinate  position  in 
his  party's  councils,  but  defeat  and  ruin  had  taken  the 
conceit  out  of  the  old-line  leaders  and  he  knew  that  his 
day  was  drawing  near. 

"I'll  take  my  place  among  the  leaders  and  masters  of 
men,"  he  told  himself,  with  quiet  determination;  "I  will 
compel  the  General's  respect;  and  if  I  cannot  win  hia 
consent,  I  will  take  her  without  it." 


CHAPTER   VII 
EQUALITY  WITH  A  RESERVATION 

THE  lynching  at  Hambright  had  stirred  the  whole 
nation  into  unusual  indignant  interest.  It  hap 
pened  to  be  the  climax  of  a  series  of  such  crimes 
committed  in  the  South  in  rapid  succession,  and  the 
death  of  this  Negro  was  reported  with  more  than  usual 
vividness  by  a  young  newspaper  man  of  genius. 

A  grand  mass  meeting  was  called  in  Cooper  Union, 
New  York,  at  which  were  gathered  delegates  from 
different  cities  and  states  to  give  emphasis  and  unity 
to  the  movement  and  issue  an  appeal  to  the  national 
government. 

When  Sallie  Worth  reached  Boston  she  found  Helen 
Lowell  at  home  alone.  The  Honourable  Everett  Lowell 
had  made  one  of  the  speeches  of  his  career  at  the  mass 
meeting  held  in  Faneuil  Hall,  and  he  was  in  New  York, 
where  he  had  gone  to  make  the  principal  address  in  the 
Cooper  Union  Convention  of  Negro  sympathisers. 

George  Harris  had  accompanied  him,  supremely  fas 
cinated  by  the  eloquent  and  masterful  appeal  for  human 
brotherhood  he  had  heard  him  make  in  Boston.  There 
was  something  pathetic  in  the  doglike  worship  this 
young  Negro  gave  to  his  brilliant  patron.  In  his  life  in 
New  England  he  had  been  shocked  more  than  once  by 
the  brutal  prejudices  of  the  people  against  his  race.  His 
soul  had  been  tried  to  the  last  of  its  powers  of  endurance 
at  times.  He  found  to  his  amazement  that,  when  put  to 
the  test,  the  masses  of  the  North  had  even  deeper  repug- 

389 


The  Leopard's  Spots 

nance  to  the  person  of  a  Negro  than  the  Southerners  who 
grew  up  with  him  from  the  cradle.  He  had  found  him 
self  cut  off  from  every  honourable  way  of  earning  his 
bread,  gentleman  and  scholar  though  he  was,  and  had 
looked  into  the  river  as  he  walked  over  the  bridge  to 
Cambridge  one  night  with  a  well-nigh  resistless  impulse 
to  end  it  all. 

But  Lowell  had  cheered  him,  laughed  his  gloomy  ideas 
to  scorn,  and,  more  practical  still,  had  secured  him  a 
clerkship  in  the  Custom-House,  which  settled  the  problem 
of  bread.  Others  had  failed  him,  but  this  man  of  trained 
powers  had  never  failed  him.  He  had  taught  him  to  lift 
tip  his  head  and  look  the  world  squarely  in  the  face. 
Lowell  was,  to  his  vivid  African  imagination,  the  ideal 
man  made  in  the  image  of  God,  calm  in  judgment,  free 
from  all  superstitions  and  prejudices,  a  citizen  of  the 
world  of  human  thought,  a  prince  of  that  vast  ethical 
aristocracy  of  the  free  thinkers  of  all  ages  who  knew  no 
racial  or  conventional  barriers  between  man  and  man. 

Harris  had  published  a  volume  of  poems  which  he  had 
dedicated  to  Lowell,  and  his  most  inspiring  verse  was 
simply  the  outpouring  of  his  soul  in  worship  of  this 
ideal  man. 

He  was  his  devoted  worshiper  for  another  and  more 
powerful  reason.  In  his  daily  intercourse  with  him  in 
his  library  during  his  campaigns  he  had  frequently  met 
his  beautiful  daughter  and  had  fallen  deeply  and  madly 
in  love  with  her.  This  secret  passion  he  had  kept  hidden 
in  his  sensitive  soul.  He  had  worshiped  her  from  afar 
as  though  she  had  been  a  white-robed  angel.  To  see  her 
and  be  in  the  same  house  with  her  was  all  he  asked.  Now 
and  then  he  had  stood  beside  the  piano  and  turned  the 
music  while  she  played  and  sang  one  of  his  new  pieces, 
and  he  would  live  on  that  scene  for  months,  eating  his 
heart  out  with  voiceless  yearnings  he  dared  not  express. 


Equality  with  a  Reservation          391 

In  his  music  he  made  his  greatest  success.  There  was 
a  fiery  sweep  to  his  passion  and  a  deep  Oriental  rhythm 
in  his  cadence  that  held  the  imagination  of  his  hearers  in 
a  spell.  It  is  needless  to  say  it  was  in  this  music  he 
breathed  his  secret  love. 

At  first  he  had  not  dared  to  hope  for  the  day  when  he 
could  declare  this  secret  or  take  his  place  in  the  list  of  her 
admirers  and  fight  for  his  chance.  But  of  late  a  great 
hope  had  filled  his  soul  and  illumined  the  world.  As 
he  listened  to  Lowell's  impassioned  appeals  for  human 
brotherhood,  his  scathing  ridicule  of  pride  and  prejudice, 
and  the  poetic  beauty  of  the  language  in  which  he  pro 
claimed  his  own  emancipation  from  all  the  laws  of  caste, 
the  fiery  eloquence  with  which  he  trampled  upon  all  the 
barriers  man  had  erected  against  his  fellow  man,  his  soul 
was  thrilled  into  ecstasy  with  the  conviction  that  this 
scholar  and  scientific  thinker,  at  least,  was  a  free  man. 
He  was  sure  that  he  had  risen  above  the  limitations  of 
provincialisms,  racial  or  national  prejudices. 

He  had  begun  to  dream  of  the  day  he  would  ask  this 
godlike  man  for  the  privilege  of  addressing  his  daughter. 

The  great  meeting  at  Cooper  Union  had  brought  this 
dream  to  a  sudden  resolution.  Lowell  had  outdone  him 
self  that  night.  With  merciless  invective  he  had  de 
nounced  the  inhuman  barbarism  of  the  South  in  these 
lynchings.  The  sea  of  eager  faces  had  answered  his 
appeals  as  water  the  breath  of  a  storm.  He  felt  its 
mighty  reflex  influence  sweep  back  on  his  soul  and  lift 
him  to  greater  heights.  He  demanded  equality  of 
man  on  every  inch  of  this  earth's  soil. 

"  I  demand  this  perfect  equality,"  he  cried,  "  absolutely 
without  reservation  or  subterfuge,  both  in  form  and 
essential  reality.  It  is  the  life-blood  of  Democracy.  It  is 
the  reason  of  our  existence.  Without  this  we  are  a  living 
lie,  a  stench  in  the  nostrils  of  God  and  humanity  !  " 


392  The  Leopard's  Spots 

A  cheer  from  a  thousand  Negro  throats  rent  the  air  as 
he  thus  closed.  The  crowd  surged  over  the  platform  and 
for  ten  minutes  it  was  impossible  to  restore  order  or 
continue  the  programme.  Young  Harris  pressed  his 
patron's  hand  and  kissed  it  while  tears  of  pride  and 
gratitude  rained  down  his  face. 

This  speech  made  a  national  sensation.  It  was  printed 
in  full  in  all  the  partisan  papers,  where  it  was  hoped 
capital  might  be  made  of  it  for  the  next  political 
campaign,  and  the  National  Campaign  Committee, 
of  which  he  was  a  member,  ordered  a  million  copies  of 
it  printed  for  distribution  among  the  Negroes. 

When  Lowell  and  Harris  reached  Boston,  as  they 
parted  at  the  depot  Harris  said : 

"Will  you  be  at  home  to-morrow,  Mr.  Lowell?  " 

"Yes.     Why?" 

"I  would  like  a  talk  with  you  in  the  morning  on 
a  matter  of  great  importance.  May  I  call  at  nine 
o'clock?" 

"Certainly.  Come  right  into  the  library.  You'll  find 
me  there,  George." 

That  night  as  Lowell  walked  through  his  brilliantly 
lighted  home  he  felt  a  sense  of  glowing  pride  and 
strength.  With  his  hands  behind  him  he  paced  back  and 
forth  in  his  great  library  and  out  through  the  spacious 
hall  with  firm  tread  and  flushed  face.  He  felt  he  could 
look  these  great  ancestors  in  the  face  to-night  as  they 
gazed  down  on  him  from  their  heavy  gold. frames.  They 
had  called  him  to  high  ambitions  and  a  strenuous  life 
when  his  indolence  had  pleaded  for  ease  and  the 
dilettanteism  of  a  fruitless  dreaming.  His  father  had 
cultivated  his  artistic  tastes,  dreamed  and  done  nothing. 
But  these  grim-visaged,  eagle-eyed  ancestors  had  called 
him  to  a  life  of  realities,  and  he  had  heard  their  voices. 

Yes,  to-night  his  name  was  on  a  million  lips. 


Equality  with  a  Reservation  393 

door  of  the  United  States  Senate  was  opening  at  his 
touch  and  mightier  possibilities  loomed  in  the  future. 

He  felt  a  sense  of  gratitude  for  the  heritage  of  that 
stately  old  home  and  its  inspiring  memories.  Its  roots 
struck  down  into  the  soil  of  a  thousand  years,  and 
spread  beneath  the  ocean  to  that  greater  Old  World  life. 
He  felt  his  heart  beat  with  pride  that  he  was  adding  new 
honours  to  that  family  history,  and  adding  to  the  soul- 
treasures  his  daughter's  children  would  inherit. 

Seated  in  the  library  next  morning  Harris  was  nervous 
and  embarrassed.  He  made  two  or  three  attempts  to 
begin  the  subject,  but  turned  aside  with  some  unimpor 
tant  remark. 

"Well,  George,  what  is  the  problem  that  makes  you 
so  grave  this  morning?  "  asked  Lowell,  with  kindly 
patronage. 

Harris  felt  that  his  hour  had  come  and  he  must 
face  it.  He  leaned  forward  in  his  chair  and  looked 
steadily  down  at  the  rug,  while  he  clasped  both  his  hands 
firmly  across  his  lap  and  spoke  with  great  rapidity. 

"Mr.  Lowell,  I  wish  to  say  to  you  that  you  have 
taught  me  the  greatest  faith  of  life — faith  in  my  fellow 
man  without  which  there  can  be  no  faith  in  God.  What 
I  have  suffered  as  a  man  as  I  have  come  in  contact  with 
the  brutality  with  which  my  race  is  almost  universally 
treated  God  only  can  ever  know. 

"The  culture  I  have  received  has  simply  multiplied  a 
thousandfold  my  capacity  to  suffer.  But  for  the  inspira 
tion  of  your  manhood  I  would  have  ended  my  life  in  the 
river.  In  you  I  saw  a  great  light.  I  saw  a  man  really 
made  in  the  image  of  God  with  mind  and  soul  trained, 
with  head  erect,  scorning  the  weak  prejudices  of  caste, 
which  dare  to  call  the  image  of  God  clean  or  unclean  in 
passion  or  pride. 

"  I  lifted  up  my  head  and  said:  One  such  map.  redeems 


394  The  Leopard's  Spots 

a  world  from  infamy.  It's  worth  while  to  live  in  a  world 
honoured  by  one  such  man,  for  he  is  the  prophecy  of  more 
to  come." 

He  paused  a  moment,  fidgeted  with  a  piece  of  paper 
he  had  picked  up  from  the  table,  and  seemed  at  a  loss 
for  a  word. 

It  never  dawned  on  Lowell  what  he  was  driving  at. 
He  supposed,  as  a  matter  of  course,  he  was  referring  to 
his  great  speeches  and  was  going  to  ask  for  some  promo 
tion  in  a  governmental  department  at  Washington. 

"I'm  proud  to  have  been  such  an  inspiration  to  you, 
George.  You  know  how  much  I  think  of  you.  What  is 
on  your  mind?  "  he  asked,  at  length. 

"I  have  hidden  it  from  every  human  eye,  sir;  I  am 
afraid  to  breathe  it  aloud  alone.  I  have  only  tried  to 
sing  it  in  song  in  an  impersonal  way.  Your  wonderful 
words  of  late  have  emboldened  me  to  speak.  It  is  this 
— I  am  madly,  desperately  in  love  with  your  daughter." 

Lowell  sprang  to  his  feet  as  though  a  bolt  of  lightning 
had  suddenly  shot  down  his  backbone.  He  glared  at  the 
Negro  with  widely  dilated  eyes  and  heaving  breath  as 
though  he  had  been  transformed  into  a  leopard  and  was 
about  to  spring  at  his  throat. 

Before  answering,  and  with  a  gesture  commanding 
silence,  he  walked  rapidly  to  the  library  door  and 
closed  it. 

"And  I  have  come  to  ask  you,"  continued  Harris, 
ignoring  his  gesture,  "if  I  may  pay  my  addresses  to  her 
with  your  consent." 

"Harris,  this  is  crazy  nonsense.  Such  an  idea  is 
preposterous.  I  am  amazed  that  it  should  ever  have 
entered  your  head.  Let  this  be  the  end  of  it  here  and 
now,  if  you  have  any  desire  to  retain  my  friendship." 

Lowell  said  this  with  a  scowl  and  an  emphasis  of 
indignant,,  rising  inflection.  The  Negro  seemed  stunned 


Equality  with  a  Reservation         395 

by  this  swift  blow  in  his  very  teeth,  that  seemed  to 
place  him  outside  the  pale  of  a  human  being. 

"Why  is  such  a  hope  unreasonable,  sir,  to  a  man  of 
your  scientific  mind?" 

"It  is  a  question  of  taste,"  snapped  Lowell. 

"Am  I  not  a  graduate  of  the  same  university  with  you  ? 
Did  I  not  stand  as  high,  and,  age  for  age,  am  I  not 
your  equal  in  culture?  " 

"Granted.  Nevertheless,  you  are  a  Negro,  and  I  do 
not  desire  the  infusion  of  your  blood  in  my  family." 

"But  I  have  more  of  white  than  Negro  blood,  sir." 

"So  much  the  worse.     It  is  the  mark  of  shame." 

"But  it  is  the  one  drop  of  Negro  blood  at  which  your 
taste  revolts,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"To  be  frank,  it  is." 

"Why  is  it  an  unpardonable  sin  in  me  that  my 
ancestors  were  born  under  tropic  skies  where  skin 
and  hair  were  tanned  and  curled  to  suit  the  sun's 
fierce  rays?" 

"All  tropic  races  are  not  Negroes,  and  your  race  has 
characteristics  apart  from  accidents  of  climate  that  make 
it  unique  in  the  annals  of  man,"  rejoined  Lowell. 

"And  yet  you  demand  perfect  equality  of  man  with 
man,  absolutely  in  form  and  substance  without  reserva 
tion  or  subterfuge ! " 

"Yes;  political  equality." 

"Politics  is  but  a  secondary  phenomenon  of  society. 
You  said  absolute  equality,"  protested  Harris. 

"The  question  you  broach  is  a  question  of  taste,  and 
the  deeper  social  instincts  of  racial  purity  and  self- 
preservation.  I  care  not  what  your  culture  or  your 
genius  or  your  position,  I  do  not  desire,  and  will  not 
permit,  a  mixture  of  Negro  blood  in  my  family.  The 
idea  is  nauseating,  and  to  my  daughter  it  would  be 
repulsive  beyond  the  power  of  words  to  express  it !  " 


396  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"And  yet,"  pleaded  Harris,  " you  invited  me  to  your 
home,  introduced  me  to  your  daughter,  seated  me  at 
your  table  and  used  me  in  your  appeal  to  your  constitu 
ents,  and  now,  when  I  dare  ask  the  privilege  of  seeking 
her  hand  in  honourable  marriage,  you,  the  scholar, 
patriot,  statesman  and  philosopher  of  Equality  and 
Democracy,  slam  the  door  in  my  face  and  tell  me  that 
I  am  a  Negro !  Is  this  fair  or  manly?  " 

"I  fail  to  see  its  unfairness." 

"It  is  amazing.  You  are  a  master  of  history  and 
sociology.  You  know  as  clearly  as  I  do  that  social 
intercourse  is  the  only  possible  pathway  to  love.  And 
you  opened  it  to  me  with  your  own  hand.  Could  I  control 
the  beat  of  my  heart  ?  There  are  some  powers  within  us 
that  are  involuntary.  You  could  have  prevented  my 
meeting  your  daughter  as  an  equal.  But  all  the  will 
power  of  earth  could  not  prevent  my  loving  her  when 
once  I  had  seen  her  and  •  spoken  to  her.  The  sound 
of  the  human  voice,  the  touch  of  the  human  hand  in 
social  equality  are  the  divine  sacraments  that  open 
the  mystery  of  love." 

"Social  rights  are  one  thing,  political  rights  another," 
interrupted  Lowell. 

"  I  deny  it.  If  you  are  honest  with  yourself,  you  know 
it  is  not  true.  Politics  is  but  a  manifestation  of  society. 
Society  rests  on  the  family.  The  family  is  the  unit  of 
civilisation.  The  right  to  love  and  wed  where  one  loves 
is  the  badge  of  fellowship  in  the  order  of  humanity.  The 
man  who  is  denied  this  right  in  any  society  is  not  a 
member  of  it.  He  is  outside  of  any  manifestation  of  its 
essential  life.  You  had  as  well  talk  about  the  importance 
of  clothes  for  a  dead  man  as  political  rights  for  such 
a  pariah.  You  have  classed  him  with  the  beasts  of 
the  field.  As  a  human  unit  he  does  not  exist  for  you." 

"  Harris,  it  is  utterly  useless  to  argue  a  point  like  this," 


Equality  with  a  Reservation          397 

Lowell  interupted,  coldly.  "This  must  be  the  end  of  our 
acquaintance.  You  must  not  enter  my  house  again." 

"My  God,  you  can't  kick  me  out  of  your  home  like 
this  when  you  brought  me  to  it,  and  made  it  an  issue  of 
life  or  death!" 

"I  tell  you  again  you  are  crazy.  I  have  brought  you 
here  against  her  wishes.  She  left  the  house  with  her 
friend  this  morning  to  avoid  seeing  you.  Your  presence 
has  always  been  repulsive  to  her,  and  with  me  it  has  been* 
a  political  study,  not  a  social  pleasure." 

"I  beg  for  only  a  desperate  chance  to  overcome  this 
feeling.  Surely  a  man  of  your  profound  learning  and 
genius  cannot  sympathise  with  such  prejudices  ?  Let  me 
tiy — let  her  decide  the  issue." 

"I  decline  to  discuss  the  question  any  further." 

"  I  can't  give  up  without  a  struggle  !  "  the  Negro  cried, 
with  desperation. 

Lowell  arose  with  a  gesture  of  impatience. 

"  Now  you  are  getting  to  be  simply  a  nuisance.  To  be 
perfectly  plain  with  you,  I  haven't  the  slightest  desire 
that  my  family,  with  its  proud  record  of  a  thousand  years 
of  history  and  achievement,  shall  end  in  this  stately  old 
house  in  a  brood  of  mulatto  brats !  " 

Harris  winced  and  sprang  to  his  feet,  trembling  with 
passion.  "  I  see,"  he  sneered ;  "the  soul  of  Simon  Legree 
has  at  last  become  the  soul  of  the  nation.  The  South 
expresses  the  same  luminous  truth  with  a  little  more 
clumsy  brutality.  But  their  way  is  after  all  more 
merciful.  The  human  body  becomes  unconscious  at  the 
touch  of  an  oil-fled  flame  in  sixty  seconds.  Your  methods 
are  more  refined  and  more  hellish  in  cruelty.  You 
have  trained  my  ears  to  hear,  eyes  to  see,  hands  to  touch 
and  heart  to  feel,  that  you  might  torture  with  the  denial 
of  every  cry  of  body  and  soul  and  roast  me  in  the  flames 
of  impossible  desires  for  time  and  eternity !  " 


398  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"That  will  do  now.  There's  the  door!"  thundered 
Lowell,  with  a  gesture  of  stern  emphasis.  "I  happen  to 
know  the  important  fact  that  a  man  or  woman  of  Negro 
ancestry,  though  a  century  removed,  will  suddenly  breed 
back  to  a  pure  Negro  child,  thick-lipped,  kinky-headed, 
flat-nosed,  black-skinned.  One  drop  of  your  blood  in  my 
family  could  push  it  backward  three  thousand  years  in 
history.  If  you  were  able  to  win  her  consent,  a  thing 
unthinkable,  I  would  do  what  old  Virginius  did  in  the 
Roman  Forum — kill  her  with  my  own  hand,  rather  than 
see  her  sink  in  your  arms  into  the  black  waters  of  a 
Negroid  life  1  Now  go  I  " 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  NEW  SIMON  LEGREE 

HARRIS  immediately  resigned  his  office  in  the 
Custom-House  which  he  owed  to  Lowell  and 
began  a  search  for  employment. 

"I  will  not  be  a  pensioner  of  a  government  of  hypo 
crites  and  liars,"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  sealed  his  letter  of 
resignation. 

And  then  began  his  weary  tramp  in  search  of  work. 
Day  after  day,  week  after  week,  he  got  the  same  answer 
— an  emphatic  refusal.  The  only  thing  open  to  a  Negro 
was  a  position  as  porter,  or  bootblack,  or  waiter  in  second- 
rate  hotels  and  restaurants,  or  in  domestic  service  as 
coachman,  butler  or  footman.  He  was  no  more  fitted  for 
these  places  than  he  was  to  live  with  his  head  under 
water. 

"I  will  blow  my  brains  out  before  I  will  prostitute 
my  intellect  and  my  consciousness  of  free  manhood  by 
such  degrading  associates  and  such  menial  service !  "  he 
declared,  with  sullen  fury. 

At  last  he  determined  to  lay  aside  his  pride  and  educa 
tion  and  learn  a  manual  trade.  Not  a  labour-union 
would  allow  him  to  enter  its  ranks. 

He  managed  to  earn  a  few  dollars  at  odd  jobs  and 
went  to  New  York. '  Here  he  was  treated  with  greater 
brutality  than  in  Boston.  At  last  he  got  a  position 
in  a  big  clothing  factory.  He  was  so  bright  in  colour 
that  the  manager  never  suspected  that  he  was  a  Negro, 

399 


400  The  Leopard's  Spots 

as  he  was  accustomed  to  employing  swarthy  Jews  from 
Poland  and  Russia. 

When  Harris  entered  the  factory  the  employees  discov 
ered  within  an  hour  his  race,  laid  down  their  work,  and 
walked  out  on  a  strike  until  he  was  removed. 

He  again  tried  to  break  into  a  labour-union  and  get 
the  protection  of  its  constitution  and  laws.  He  man 
aged  at  last  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  a  labour  leader 
who  had  been  a  Quaker  preacher,  and  was  elated  to 
discover  that  his  name  was  Hugh  Halliday,  and  that  he 
was  a  son  of  one  of  the  Hallidays  who  had  assisted  in  the 
rescue  of  his  mother  and  father  from  slavery.  He  told 
Halliday  his  history  and  begged  his  intercession  with 
the  labour-union. 

"I'll  try  for  you,  Harris,"  he  said,  "but  it's  a  doubtful 
experiment.  The  men  fear  the  Negro  as  a  pestilence." 

"Do  the  best  you  can  for  me.  I  must  ha.ve  bread.  I 
only  ask  a  man's  chance,"  answered  Harris.  Halliday 
proposed  his  name  and  backed  it  up  with  a  strong  per 
sonal  indorsement,  gave  a  brief  sketch  of  his  culture  and 
accomplishments,  and  asked  that  he  be  allowed  to  learn 
the  bricklayer's  trade. 

When  his  name  came  up  before  the  Bricklayers' 
Union,  and  it  was  announced  that  he  was  a  Negro,  it 
precipitated  a  debate  of  such  fury  that  it  threatened  to 
develop  into  a  riot. 

One  of  the  men  sprang  toward  the  presiding  officer 
with  blazing  eyes,  gesticulating  wildly  until  recognised. 

"I  have  this  to  say,"  he  shouted.  "No  negro  shall 
ever  enter  the  door  of  this  Union  except  over  my  dead 
body.  The  Negro  can  under-live  us.  We  cannot  com 
pete  with  him,  and  as  a  race  we  cannot  organise  him. 
Let  him  stay  in  the  South.  We  have  no  room  for  him 
here,  and  we  will  kill  him  if  he  tries  to  take  our  bread 
from  us." 


The  New  Simon  Legree  401 

"Have  you  no  sympathy  for  his  age-long  sufferings 
in  slavery?  "  interrupted  Halliday. 

"Slavery  !  Of  all  the  delusions,  the  idea  that  slavery 
was  abolished  in  this  country  in  1865  is  the  silliest. 
Slavery  was  never  firmly  established  until  the  chattel 
form  was  abandoned  for  the  wage  system  in  1865. 
Chattel  slavery  was  toe  expensive.  The  wage  system 
is  cheaper.  Now  they  never  have  to  worry  about  food, 
or  clothes,  or  houses,  or  the  children,  or  the  aged  and 
infirm  among  wage  slaves. 

"Once  the  master  hunted  the  slave — now  the  slave 
must  hunt  the  master,  beg  for  the  privilege  of  serving 
him,  and  trample  others  to  death  trying  to  fasten  the 
chains  on  when  a  brother  slave  drops  dead  in  his  tracks. 

"No,  I  don't  shed  any  crocodile  tears  over  the  Negro 
slavery  of  the  South.  It  was  a  mild  form  of  servitude 
in  which  the  Negro  had  plenty  to  eat  and  wear,  never 
suffered  from  cold,  slept  soundly,  and  reared  his  children 
in  droves  with  never  a  thought  for  the  morrow. 

"Then  mothers  and  babes  were  sometimes,  though  not 
often,  separated  by  an  executor's  or  sheriff's  sale.  Now 
we  know  better  than  to  allow  babes  to  be  born.  Then,  a 
babe  was  a  valuable  asset  and  received  the  utmost  care. 
Now,  we  have  baby  farms  which  we  fertilise  with  their 
bones.  I  know  of  one  old  hag  in  this  cit}^  who  has  killed 
more  than  two  thousand  babes. 

"What  chance  has  your  girl  or  mine  to  marry  and 
build  a  home  ?  Not  one  in  a  hundred"  will  ever  feel  the 
breath  of  a  babe  at  her  breast. 

"No!  "  he  closed,  in  thunder  tones.  "I'll  fight  the 
encroachment  of  the  Negro  on  our  life  with  every  power 
of  body  and  soul !  " 

A  hundred  men  leaped  to  their  feet  at  once,  shouting 
and  gesticulating.  The  chairman  recognised  a  tall,  dark 
man  with  a  Russian  face,  but  who  spoke  perfect  English' 


402  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"I,  gentlemen,  am  an  Anarchist  in  principle,  and  differ 
slightly  in  the  process  by  which  I  come  to  the  same  con 
clusion  as  my  friend  who  has  taken  his  seat.  I  grieve  at 
the  necessity  before  the  working-men  of  returning  to 
slavery.  All  we  can  hope  now  for  a  century  or  two 
centuries  is  socialism.  Socialism  is  simply  a  system  of 
slavery — that  is,  enforced  labour  in  which  a  Bureaucracy 
is  master.  We  must  enter  again  a  condition  of  involun 
tary  servitude  for  the  guarantee  by  the  State  of  food  and 
clothes,  shelter  and  children. 

"  It  is  no  time  to  weep  over  slavery.  The  one  thing  we 
demand  now  is  the  nationalisation  of  industries  under  the 
control  of  State  Bureaus  which  will  enforce  labour  from 
every  citizen  according  to  his  capacity,  for  the  simple 
guarantee  of  what  the  Negro  slave  received,  the  satisfac 
tion  of  two  elemental  passions,  hunger  and  love." 

Again  a  clamour  broke  out  that  drowned  the  speaker's 
voice.  A  Socialist  and  an  Anarchist  clenched  in  a  fight, 
and  for  five  minutes  pandemonium  reigned,  but  at  the 
end  of  it  Harris  was  lying  on  the  sidewalk  with  a  gash  in 
his  head,  and  Halliday  was  bending  over  him. 

When  Harris  had  recovered  from  his  wound,  Halliday 
took  him  on  a  round  of  visits  to  big  mills  in  a  populous 
manufacturing  city  across  in  New  Jersey. 

"These  mills  are  all  owned  by  Simon  Legree,"  he  in 
formed  Harris,  "and  the  unions  have  been  crushed  out  of 
them  by  methods  of  which  he  is  past  master.  I  don't 
know,  but  it  may  be  possible  to  get  you  in  there." 

They  tried  a  half-dozen  mills  in  vain,  and  at  last  they 
met  a  foreman  who  knew  Halliday  who  consented  to 
hear  his  plea. 

"You  are  fooling  away  your  time  and  this  man's  time, 
Halliday,"  he  told  him  in  a  friendly  way.  "I'd  cut  my 
right  arm  off  sooner  than  take  a  Negro  in  these  mills  and 
precipitate  a  strike." 


The  New  Simon  Legree  403 

"But  would  a  strike  occur  with  no  union  organisa 
tion  existing?" 

"Yes,  in  a  minute.  You  know  Simon  Legree,  who 
owns  these  mills.  If  a  disturbance  occurred  here  now  the 
old  devil  wouldn't  hesitate  to  close  every  mill  next  day 
and  beggar  fifty  thousand  people." 

"Why  would  he  do  such  a  stupid  thing?  " 

"Just  to  show  the  brute  power  of  his  fifty  millions  of 
dollars  over  the  human  body.  The  awful  power  in  that 
brute's  hands,  represented  in  that  money,  is  something 
appalling.  Before  the  war  he  cracked  a  blacksnake  whip 
over  the  backs  of  a  handful  of  Negroes.  Now  look  at 
him,  in  his  black  silk  hat  and  faultless  dress.  With  his 
millions  he  can  commit  any  and  every  crime  from  theft 
to  murder  with  impunity.  His  power  is  greater  than  a 
monarch.  He  controls  fleets  of  ships,  mines  and  mills, 
and  has  under  his  employ  many  thousands  of  men. 
Their  families  and  associates  make  a  vast  population. 
He  buys  Judges,  Juries,  Legislatures  and  Governors, 
and  with  one  stroke  of  his  pen  to-day  can  beggar  thou 
sands  of  people.  He  can  equip  an  army  of  hirelings, 
make  peace  or  war  on  his  own  account,  or  force  the 
governments  to  do  it  for  him.  He  has  neither  faith  in 
God  nor  fear  of  the  devil.  He  regards  all  men  as  his 
enemies  and  all  women  his  game. 

"They  say  he  used  to  haunt  the  New  Orleans  slave 
market,  when  he  was  young  and  owned  his  Red  River 
farm,  occasionally  spending  his  last  dollar  to  buy  a  hand 
some  Negro  girl  who  took  his  fancy. 

"Look  at  him  now  with  his  bloated  face,  beastly  jaw 
and  coarse  lips.  He  walks  the  streets  with  his  lecherous 
eyes  twinkling  like  a  snake's,  and  saliva  trickling  from  the 
corners  of  his  mouth,  practically  monarch  of  all  he  sur 
veys.  He  selects  his  victims  at  his  own  sweet  will,  and 
with  his  army  of  hirelings  to  do  his  bidding,  backed  by 


404  The  Leopard's  Spots 

his  millions,  he  lives  a  charmed  life  in  a  round  of 
daily  crime. 

"How  many  lives  he  has  blasted  among  the  popula 
tion  of  the  multitude  of  souls  dependent  on  him  for 
bread,  God  only  knows.  It  is  said  he  has  murdered  the 
souls  of  many  innocent  girls  in  these  mills " 

"Surely  that  is  an  exaggeration,"  broke  in  Halliday. 

"On  the  other  hand,  I  believe  the  picture  is  far  too 
mild.  I  tell  you  no  human  mind  can  conceive  the  awful 
brute  power  over  the  human  body  his  millions  hold  under 
our  present  conditions  of  life." 

Th  ^re  was  a  tinge  of  deep,  personal  bitterness  in  the 
man's  words  that  held  Halliday  in  a  spell  while  he 
continued : 

"Under  our  present  conditions  men  and  women  must 
fight  one  another  Uke  beasts  for  food  and  shelter.  The 
wildest  dreams  of  lust  and  cruelty  under  the  old  sys 
tem  of  Southern  slavery  would  be  laughed  at  by  this 
modern  master." 

He  paused  a  moment  in  painful  reverie. 

"There  lies  his  big  yacht  in  the  harbour  now.  She  is 
just  in  from  a  cruise  in  the  Orient.  She  cost  half  a 
million  dollars,  and  carries  a  crew  of  fifty  men.  With 
them  are  beautiful  girls  hired  at  fancy  wages,  connected 
with  the  stewardess'  department.  She  ships  a  new 
crew  every  trip.  Not  one  of  those  young  faces  is  ever 
lifted  again  among  their  friends." 

He  paused  again  and  a  tear  coursed  down  his  face. 

"I  confess  I  am  bitter.  I  loved  one  of  those  girls 
once  when  I  was  younger.  She  was  a  mere  child  of 
seventeen."  His  voice  broke.  "Yes,  she  came  back 
shattered  in  health  and  ruined.  I  am  supporting  her 
now  at  a  quiet  country  place.  She  is  dying. 

"Think  of  the  farce  of  it  all!"  he  continued,  pas 
sionately.  "The  picture  of  that  brute  with  a  whip  in 


The  New  Simon  Legree  405 

his*  hand  beating  a  Negro  caused  the  most  terrible  war 
in  the  history  of  the  world.  Three  millions  of  men  flew 
at  each  other's  throats  and  for  four  years  fought  like 
demons.  A  million  men  and  six  billions  of  dollars' 
worth  of  property  were  destroyed. 

"He  was  a  poor,  harmless  fool  there,  beating  his  own 
faithful  slave  to  death.  Compare  that  Legree  with  the 
one  of  to-day,  and  you  compare  a  mere  stupid  man  with 
a  prince  of  hell.  But  does  this  fiend  excite  the  wrath 
of  the  righteous?  Far  from  it.  His  very  name  is 
whispered  in  admiring  awe  by  millions.  He  boasts  that 
dozens  of  proud  mothers  strip  their  daughters  to  the 
limit  the  police  law  will  allow  at  every  social  function  he 
honours  with  his  presence,  and  offer  to  sell  him  their 
own  flesh  and  blood  for  the  paltry  consideration  of  a 
life  interest  in  one-third  of  his  estate.  And  he  laughs  at 
them  all.  His  name  is  magic. 

"I  know  of  one  weak  fool,  a  petty  millionaire,  whom 
Legree  lured  into  a  speculative  trap  and  ruined.  On 
his  knees  in  his  Fifth  Avenue  palace  the  whining  coward 
kissed  Legree 's  feet  and  begged  for  mercy.  He  kicked 
him  and  sneered  at  his  misery.  At  last,  when  he  had 
tortured  him  to  the  verge  of  madness,  he  offered  to 
spare  him  on  one  condition — that  he  should  give 
him  his  daughter  as  a  ransom.  And  he  did  it. 

"  No,  the  brute  power  of  such  a  man  to-day  is  beyond 
the  grasp  of  the  human  mind.  His  chances  for  debauch 
ery  and  cruelty  are  limitless.  The  brains  of  his  hirelings 
are  put  to  the  test  to  invent  new  crimes  against  nature  to 
interest  his  appetites.  The  only  limit  to  his  power  of 
evil  is  the  capacity  of  the  human  mind  to  think  and  his 
body  to  act  and  endure.  When  he  is  exhausted,  he 
can  command  the  knowledge  and  the  skill  of  ages  and 
the  masters  of  all  science  to  restore  his  strength,  while 
satellites  lick  his  feet  and  sing  his  praises. 


406  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"  Risk  the  whim  of  such  a  man  with  the  lives  of  these 
poor  people  dependent  on  me?  No,  I'd  sooner  kill  that 
Negro  you  have  brought  here  and  take  my  chances  of 
detection." 

Halliday  gave  up  the  task,  returned  to  New  York, 
and  sought  the  aid  of  the  greatest  labour  leader  in 
America,  who  had  arrived  in  the  city  from  the  West  the 
day  before. 

"No,  Halliday,"  he  said,  emphatically.  "Send  your 
Negro  back  down  South.  We  don't  want  any  more  of 
them,  or  to  come  in  contact  with  them.  I  have  just 
corne  from  the  West,  where  a  desperate  strike  was  in 
progress  in  one  of  Legree's  mines.  Our  men  were 
toiling  in  the  depth  of  the  earth  in  midnight  darkness, 
never  seeing  the  light  of  day,  for  just  enough  to  keep 
body  and  soul  together.  They  tried  to  wring  one  little 
concession  from  their  absent  master,  who  had  never 
condescended  to  honour  them  with  his  presence.  What 
did  he  do  ?  Shut  down  his  mines  and  brought  up  from 
the  South  a  herd  of  Negroes,  who  came  crowding  to  the 
mines  to  push  our  men  back  into  hell.  We  begged  them 
to  go  home  and  let  us  alone.  They  grinned,  shuffled, 
and  looked  at  their  white  driver  for  the  signal  to  go  to 
work.  I  ordered  the  men  to  shoot  them  down  like 
dogs.  We  made  the  Governor  issue  a  proclamation 
driving  them  back  South  and  warning  their  race  that 
if  they  attempted  to  enter  the  borders  of  the  State  he 
would  meet  them  with  Gatling  guns. 

"No;  send  your  friend  South.  The  winters  up  here 
are  too  cold  for  him  and  the  summers  too  hot." 

In  the  meantime,  Harris  walked  the  streets  with  a 
storm  of  furious  passion  raging  in  his  soul.  He  was 
the  son  of  Eliza  Harris,  who  had  fled  from  the  kindliest 
form  of  slavery  in  Kentucky.  He  had  a  trained  mind, 
and  the  brightest  gift  of  musical  genius.  Yet  he  stood 


The  New  Simon  Legree  407 

that  day  at  the  door  of  Simon  Legree  and  begged  in  vain 
for  the  privilege  of  serving  in  the  meanest  capacity  as  his 
slave.  What  a  strange  circle  of  time,  those  forty  years 
of  the  past ! 

And  then  the  tempter  whispered  the  right  word  at  the 
right  moment,  and  his  fate  was  sealed. 

"There's  but  one  thing  left  for  me  to  do.  I  will 
do  it!"  he  exclaimed. 

He  entered  the  employ  of  a  gambling  joint  and 
deliberately  began  a  life  of  crime.  After  a  month  he 
won  five  hundred  dollars,  and  went  on  a  strange  journey, 
visiting  the  scenes  in  Colorado,  Kansas,  Indiana  and 
Ohio,  where  Negroes  had  recently  been  burned  alive. 
He  would  find  the  ash-heap  and  place  on  it  a  wreath  of 
costly  flowers.  He  lingered  thoughtfully  over  the  ash- 
piles  he  found  in  Kansas  made  from  the  flesh  of  living 
Negroes.  He  tried  to  imagine  the  figure  of  John  Brown 
marching  by  his  side,  but  instead  he  felt  the  grip  of 
Simon  Legree 's  hand  on  his  throat,  living,  militant, 
omnipotent.  His  soul  had  conquered  the  world.  Yet 
even  Legree  had  never  dared  to  burn  a  Negro  to  death 
in  the  old  days  of  slavery. 

He  found  one  of  these  ash-heaps  at  the  foot  of  the 
monument  in  Indiana  to  the  great  Western  colleague  of 
Thaddeus  Stevens,  and  with  a  sigh  placed  his  wreath  on 
it,  and  passed  on  into  Ohio. 

He  went  to  the  spot  where  his  mother  had  climbed  up 
the  banks  of  the  Ohio  River  into  the  promised  land  of 
liberty,  and  followed  the  track  of  the  old  Underground 
Railroad  for  fugitive  slaves  a  few  miles.  He  came  to  a 
village  which  was  once  a  station  of  this  system.  Here, 
strangest  of  all,  he  found  one  of  these  ash-heaps  in  the 
public  square. 


CHAPTER  IX 
THE  NEW  AMERICA 

ANOTHER  year  of  struggle  and  suffering,  hope 
and  fear,  Gaston  had  passed,  and  still  he  was  no 
nearer  the  dream  of  realised  love.  If  anything 
had  changed,  the  General's  pride  had  added  new  force  to 
his  determination  that  his  daughter  should  not  marry 
the  man  who  had  defied  him. 

His  chief  reliance  for  Gaston 's  defeat  was  on  time 
and  the  broadening  of  Sallie's  mind  by  extended  travel. 
He  had  sent  her  abroad  twice,  and  this  year  he  sent  her 
to  ^pend  another  three  months  in  Europe. 

These  absences  seemed  only  to  intensify  her  longing 
for  her  lover.  On  her  return  the  General  would  burst 
into  a  storm  of  rage  at  her  persistence.  She  had  ceased 
to  give  him  any  bitter  answers,  only  smiling  quietly  and 
maintaining  an  ominous  silence. 

He  had  a  new  cause  now  of  dislike  for  the  man  of  her 
choice.  Gaston  had  become  a  man  of  acknowledged 
power  in  politics  and  was  the  leader  of  a  group  of  radical 
young  men  who  demanded  the  complete  reorganisation 
of  the  Democratic  party,  the  shelving  of  the  old-timers, 
among  whom  he  was  numbered,  and  the  announcement 
of  a  radical  programme  upon  the  Negro  issue. 

Radicalism  of  any  sort  he  had  always  hated.  Now, 
as  advanced  by  this  young  upstart,  it  was  doubly 
odious.  The  General  had  never  given  much  time  to  his 
political  duties,  but  his  name  was  a  power,  and  he  gave 
regularly  to  the  campaign  committee  the  largest  cash 
contribution  they  received. 

408 


The  New  America  409 

He  tried  in  a  clumsy  way  to  put  Gaston  off  the  State 
Executive  Committee,  but  failed.  He  saw  Gaston 
quietly  laughing  at  him.  Then  he  opened  his  pocket- 
book  and  worked  up  a  machine.  It  was  a  formidable 
power,  and  Gaston  feared  its  influence  in  the  coming 
convention. 

While  this  fight  was  in  progress,  and  Sallie  was  in 
Europe,  the  destruction  of  the  Maine  in  Havana  Harbour 
stilled  the  world  into  silence  with  the  echo  of  its  sullen 
roar.  There  was  a  moment's  pause,  and  the  nation 
lifted  its  great  silk  battle-flags  from  the  Capitol  at 
Washington,  and  called  for  volunteers  to  wipe  the 
empire  of  Spain  from  the  map  of  the  Western  world. 

The  war  lasted  but  a  hundred  days,  but  in  those 
hundred  days  was  packed  the  harvest  of  centuries. 

War  is  always  the  crisis  that  flashes  the  searchlight 
into  the  souls  of  men  and  nations,  revealing  their 
unknown  strength  and  weakness,  and  the  changes  that 
have  been  silently  wrought  in  the  years  of  peace. 

In  these  hundred  days,  statesmen  who  were  giants 
suddenly  shrivelled  into  pygmies  and  disappeared  from 
the  nation's  life.  Young  men  whose  names  were 
unknown  became  leaders  of  the  republic  and  won 
immortal  fame. 

We  were  afraid  that  our  nation  still  lacked  unity. 
The  world  said  we  were  a  mob  of  money-grubbers,  and 
had  lost  our  grasp  of  principle.  The  President  called 
for  125,000  men  to  die  for  their  flag,  and  next  morning 
800,000  were  struggling  for  place  in  the  line. 

We  feared  that  religion  might  threaten  the  future  with 
its  bitter  feud  between  the  Roman  Catholic  and  Protes 
tant  in  a  great  crisis.  We  saw  cur  Catholic  regiments 
march  forth  to  that  war  with  screaming  fife  and  throb 
bing  drum,  and  the  flag  of  our  country  above  them, 
going  forth  to  fight  an  army  that  had  been  blessed  by 


410  The  Leopard's  Spots 

the  Pope  of  Rome.  The  flag  had  become  the  common 
symbol  of  eternal  justice,  and  the  nation  the  organ 
through  which  all  creeds  and  cults  sought  for  right 
eousness. 

We  feared  the  gulf  between  the  rich  and  the  poor  had 
become  impassable,  and  we  saw  the  millionaire's  son  take 
his  place  in  the  ranks  with  the  working-man.  The  first 
soldier  wearing  our  uniform  who  fell  before  Santiago 
with  a  Spanish  bullet  in  his  breast  was  an  only  son 
from  a  palatial  home  in  New  York,  and  by  his  side  lay 
a  cowboy  from  the  West  and  a  plowboy  from  the  South. 
Once  more  we  showed  the  world  that  classes  and  clothes 
are  but  thin  disguises  that  hide  the  eternal  childhood 
of  the  soul. 

Sectionalism  and  disunity  had  been  the  most  terrible 
realities  in  our  national  history.  Our  fathers  had  a 
poet  leader  whose  soul  dreamed  a  beautiful  dream  called 
E  Pluribus  Unum.  But  it  had  remained  a  dream.  New 
England  had  threatened  secession  years  before  South 
Carolina  in  blind  rage  led  the  way.  The  Union  was 
saved  by  a  sacrifice  of  blood  that  appalled  the  world. 
And  still  millions  feared  the  South  might  be  false  to 
her  plighted  honour  at  Appomattox.  The  ghost  of 
Secession  made  and  unmade  the  men  and  measures  of 
a  generation. 

Then  came  the  trumpet  call  that  put  the  South  to 
the  test  of  fire  and  blood.  The  world  waked  next 
morning  to  find  for  the  first  time  in  our  history  the 
dream  of  union  a  living  fact.  There  was  no  North, 
no  South — but  from  the  James  to  the  Rio  Grande  the 
children  of  the  Confederacy  rushed  with  eager,  flushed 
faces  to  defend  the  flag  their  fathers  had  "once  fought. 

And  God  reserved  in  this  hour  for  the  South,  land  of 
ashes  and  tombs  and  tears,  the  pain  and  the  glory  of  the 
first  offering  of  life  on  the  altar  of  the  new  nation.  Our 


The  New  America  411 

first  and  only  officer  who  fell  dead  on  the  deck  of  a  war 
ship,  with  the  flag  above  him,  was  Worth  Bagley,  of 
North  Carolina,  the  son  of  a  Confederate  soldier.  The 
gallant  youngster  who  stood  on  the  bridge  of  the 
Merrimac,  and  between  two  towering  mountains  of 
flaming  cannon,  in  the  darkness  of  night  blew  up  his 
ship  and  set  a  new  standard  of  Anglo-Saxon  daring, 
was  the  son  of  a  Confederate  soldier  of  North  Carolina. 

The  town  of  Hambright  furnished  a  whole  company 
of  eighty-six  men,  a  Captain,  three  Lieutenants,  and  a 
Major,  who  saw  service  in  the  war. 

When  they  were  drawn  up  in  the  court-house  square 
under  the  old  oak,  the  Preacher  stood  before  them  and 
called  the  roll  from  four  browned  parchments.  They 
were  Campbell  County  Confederate  rosters.  Every  one 
of  the  eighty-six  men  was  a  child  of  the  Confederacy. 
And  the  immortal  Company  F,  that  was  wiped  out  of 
existence  at  the  battle  of  Gettysburg,  furnished  more 
than  half  these  children. 

"Ah,  boys,  blood  will  tell!"  cried  the  Preacher, 
shaking  hands  with  each  man  as  they  left. 

A  single  round  from  the  guns,  and  it  was  over.  The 
yellow  flag  of  Spain,  lit  with  the  sunset  splendour  of  a 
world  empire,  faded  from  the  sky  of  the  West. 

A  new  naval  power  had  risen  to  disturb  the  dreams  of 
statesmen.  The  Oregon,  that  fierce  leviathan  of  ham 
mered  steel,  had  made  her  mark  upon  the  globe.  In  a 
long  black  trail  of  smoke  and  ribbon  of  foam  she  had 
circled  the  earth  without  a  pause  for  breath.  The 
thunder  of  her  lips  of  steel  over  the  shattered  hulks  of  a 
European  navy  proclaimed  the  advent  of  a  giant 
democracy  that  struck  terror  to  the  hearts  of  titled 
snobs. 

He  who  dreamed  this  monster  of  steel,  felt  her  heart 
beat,  saw  her  rush  through  foaming  seas  to  victory. 


412  The  Leopard's  Spots 

before  the  pick  of  a  miner  had  struck  the  ore  for  her 
ribs  from  a  mountainside,  was  a  child  of  the  Confed 
eracy — that  Confederacy  whose  desperate  genius  had 
sent  the  Alabama  spinning  round  the  globe  in  a 
whirlwind  of  fire. 

America,  united  at  last  and  invincible,  waked  to  the 
consciousness  of  her  resistless  power. 

And,  most  marvellous  of  all,  this  hundred  days  of  war 
had  reunited  the  Anglo-Saxon  race.  This  sudden  union 
of  the  English-speaking  people  in  friendly  alliance 
disturbed  the  equilibrium  of  the  world,  and  con 
firmed  the  Anglo-Saxon  in  his  title  to  the  primacy  of 
racial  sway. 


CHAPTER  X 
ANOTHER  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE 

ALMOST  every  problem  of  national  life  had  been 
illumined  and  made  more  hopeful  by  teh 
searchlight  of  war  save  one — the  irrepressible 
conflict  between  the  African  and  the  Anglo-Saxon  in  the 
development  of  our  civilisation.  The  glare  of  war  only 
made  the  blackness  of  this  question  the  more  apparent. 

While  the  well-drilled  Negro  regulars,  led  by  white 
officers,  acquitted  themselves  with  honour  at  Santiago, 
the  Negro  volunteers  were  the  source  of  riot  and  disorder 
wherever  they  appeared.  From  the  first,  it  was  seen  by 
thoughtful  men  that  the  Negro  was  an  impossibility  in 
the  new-born  unity  of  national  life.  When  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  race  was  united  into  one  homogeneous  mass  in 
the  fire  of  this  crisis,  the  Negro  ceased  that  moment  to 
be  a  ward  of  the  nation. 

A  Negro  regiment  had  been  in  camp  at  Independence 
during  the  war  and  was  still  there  awaiting  orders  to  be 
mustered  out.  Its  presence  had  inflamed  the  passions 
of  both  races  to  the  danger-point  of  riot  again  and  again. 
The  Negro  who  was  editing  their  paper  at  Independence 
had  gone  to  the  length  of  the  utmost  license  in  seeking 
to  influence  race  antagonism. 

When  the  regiment  of  which  the  Hambright  company 
was  a  member  was  mustered  out  at  Independence, 
Gaston  was  invited  to  deliver  the  address  of  welcome 
home  to  the  soldiers,  and  a  crowd  of  five  thousand 
people  were  present,  one-half  of  whom  were  Negroes. 

413 


414  The  Leopard's  Spots 

While  Gaston  was  speaking  in  the  square,  a  Negro 
trooper  passing  along  the  street  refused  to  give  an  inch 
of  the  sidewalk  to  a  young  lady  and  her  escort  who  met 
him.  He  ran  into  the  girl,  jostling  her  roughly,  and  the 
young  white  man  knocked  him  down  instantly  and 
beat  him  to  death.  The  wildest  passions  of  the  Negro 
regiment  were  roused.  McLeod  was  among  them  that 
day,  seeking  to  increase  his  popularity  and  influence  in 
the  coming  election,  and  he  at  once  denounced  Gaston  as 
the  cause  of  the  assault,  and  urged  the  leaders  in  secret 
to  retaliate  by  putting  a  bullet  through  his  heart. 

The  white  regiment  had  been  mustered  out,  and  their 
guns  in  most  cases  had  been  retained  by  the  men.  The 
Negro  troops  were  to  be  mustered  out  the  next  day. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  Gaston  had  received  informa 
tion  that  a  plot  was  on  foot  to  kill  him  that  night,  when 
a  Negro  mob  would  batter  down  his  door  on  the  pretense 
of  searching  for  the  man  who  had  assaulted  the  trooper. 
The  Colonel  of  the  regiment  just  disbanded  heard  it,  and 
that  night  his  men  bivouacked  in  the  yard  of  the  hotel, 
and  slept  on  their  guns. 

A  little  after  twelve  o'clock  a  mob  of  five  hundred 
Negroes  attempted  to  force  their  way  into  the  hotel. 
They  met  a  regiment  of  bayonets,  broke,  and  fled  in 
wild  confusion. 

This  event  was  the  last  straw  that  broke  the  camel's 
back.  In  the  morning  paper  a  blazing  notice  in  display 
capitals  covered  the  first  page,  calling  a  mass  meeting 
of  white  citizens  at  noon  in  Independence  Hall. 

The  little  city  of  independence  was  one  of  the  oldest 
in  the  nation.  It  boasted  the  first  declaration  of 
independence  from  Great  Britain,  antedating  a  year  the 
Philadelphia  document.  The  people  had  never  rested 
tamely  under  tyranny  nor  accepted  insult. 

The  McLeod  Negro- Farmer  Legislature  had  remodeled 


Another  Declaration  of  Independence      415 

the  ancient  charter  of  the  city,  and  under  the  new 
instrument  a  combination  of  Negroes  and  criminal  whites 
had  taken  possession  of  every  office. 

One-half  of  these  office-holders  were  incompetent  and 
insolent  Negroes.  The  Chief  of  Police  was  an  ignoramus 
in  league  with  criminals,  and  their  Mayor,  a  white 
demagogue  elected  by  pandering  to  the  lowest  passions 
of  a  Negro  constituency. 

Burglary  and  highway  robbery  were  almost  daily 
occurrences.  The  two  largest  stores  in  the  city  and  four 
residences  had  been  burned  within  a  month.  Appeal  to 
the  police  became  a  farce,  and  it  was  necessary  to  hire 
and  arm  a  force  of  private  guards  to  patrol  the  city  at 
night.  When  arrests  were  made  the  servile  authorities 
promptly  released  the  criminals.  Negro  insolence 
reached  a  height  that  made  it  impossible  for  ladies  to 
walk  the  streets  without  an  armed  escort,  and  white 
children  were  waylaid  and  beaten  on  their  way  to  the 
public  schools. 

The  incendiary  organ  of  the  Negroes,  a  newspaper  that 
had  been  noted  for  its  virulent  spirit  of  race  hatred,  had 
published  an  editorial  defaming  the  virtue  of  the  white 
women  of  the  community. 

At  eleven  o'clock  the  quaint  old  hall,  built  in  Revolu 
tionary  days  to  seat  five  hundred  people,  was  packed  with 
a  crowd  of  eight  hundred  stern-visaged  men,  standing 
so  thick  it  was  impossible  to  pass  through  them,  and 
thousands  were  massed  outside  around  the  building. 

Gaston,  whose  ancestors  had  been  leaders  in  the  great 
Revolution,  was  called  to  the  chair.  The  speech- 
making  was  brief,  fiery  and  to  the  point. 

Within  one  hour  they  unanimously  adopted  this 
resolution : 

"Resolved,  that  we  issue  a  second  Declaration 
of   Independence   from   the   infamy   of   corrupt 


416  The  Leopard's  Spots 

and  degraded  government.  The  day  of  Negro 
domination  over  the  Anglo-Saxon  race  shall 
close,  now,  once  and  forever.  The  government 
of  North  Carolina  was  established  by  a  race  of 
pioneer  white  freemen  for  white  men,  and  it  shall 
remain  in  the  hands  of  freemen. 

"We  demand  the  overthrow  of  the  criminal 
and  semi-barbarian  regime  under  which  we  now 
live,  and  to  this  end  serve  notice  on  the  present 
Mayor  of  this  city,  its  Chief  of  Police,  and  the 
six  Negro  aldermen  and  their  low  white  asso 
ciates,   that  their  resignations  are  expected  by 
nine  o'clock  to-morrow  morning.     We  demand 
that  the  Negro  Anarchist  who  edits  a  paper  in 
this  city  shall  close  his  office,  remove  its  fixtures 
and  leave  this  county  within  twenty-four  hours." 
A    committee    of    twenty-five,    with    Gaston    as    its 
Chairman,  was  appointed  to  enforce  these  resolutions. 
By   four   o'clock   an   army   of  two   thousand   white 
men  was   organised  and  placed  under  the  command  of 
the  Reverend  Duncan  McDonald,  pastor  of  the  First 
Presbyterian   Church  of  the    city,    who    had    been    a 
brave  young  officer  in  the  Confederate  army.     Every 
minister  in  the    county    was    enrolled    in    this    guard 
and  carried  a  musket  on  picket  duty  or  in  a  reserve 
camp  that  night. 

At  six  o'clock  Gaston  summoned  thirty-five  of  the 
more  prominent  Negroes  of  the  county,  including  two  of 
the  professors  in  Miss  Susan  Walker's  college,  to  meet 
the  Committee  of  Twenty-five  and  receive  its  ultimatum. 
Stern  and  hard  of  face  sat  the  twenty-five  chosen 
representatives  of  that  world-conquering  race  of  men 
at  one  end  of  the  room,  while  at  the  other  end  sat  the 
thirty-five  Negroes,  anxious  and  fearful,  realising  that 
their  day  of  dominion  had  ended. 


Another  Declaration  of  Independence      417 

Gaston  rose  and  handed  them  a  copy  of  the  resolutions. 

' '  We  give  you  till  seven  thirty  to-morrow  morning,  as 
the  leaders  of  your  race,  to  carry  out  these  demands," 
he  said,  gravely. 

~  "But  we  have  no  authority,  sir,"  replied  the  Negro 
preacher  to  whom  he  handed  the  paper. 

"Your  authority  is  equal  to  ours — the  authority  oi 
elemental  manhood.  If  you  cannot  execute  them  in 
peace,  we  will  do  it  by  force." 

"We  must  decline  such  responsibilities  unless" — the 
Negro  started  to  argue  the  question. 

"The  meeting  stands  adjourned,"  quietly  announced 
Gaston,  taking  up  his  hat  and  leaving  the  room,  followed 
by  his  committee. 

At  seven  thirty  next  morning  no  answer  had  been 
received.  Gaston  called  for  seventy-five  volunteers  to 
execute  the  decrees. 

Within  thirty  minutes  five  hundred  men  swung  into 
line  at  eight  o'clock  and  marched  four  abreast  to  the 
office  of  the  Negro  paper.  It  was  promptly  burned  to 
the  ground,  its  editor  paid  its  cash  value,  and,  with  a 
rope  around  his  neck,  escorted  to  the  depot  and  placed 
on  a  north-bound  train. 

As  Gaston  handed  him  his  ticket  for  Washington  he 
quietly  said  to  him: 

"  I  have  saved  your  life  this  morning.  If  you  value  it, 
never  put  your  foot  on  the  soil  of  this  state  again." 

"Thank  you,  sir.     I'll  not  return." 

While  this  guard,  under  strict  military  discipline,  was 
executing  this  decree,  a  mob  of  a  thousand  armed  Negroes 
concealed  themselves  in  a  hedgerow  and  fired  on  them 
from  ambush,  killing  one  man  and  wounding  six. 
Gaston  formed  his  men  in  line,  returned  the  fire  with 
deadly  effect,  charged  the  mob,  put  them  to  flight, 
driving  them  into  the  woods  outside  the  city  limits. 


4i 8  The  Leopard's  Spots 

and  placed  the  town  under  informal  but  strict  martial 
law.  By  ten  o'clock  the  resignation  of  every  city  and 
county  officer  was  in  his  hand  and  the  Mayor  and  Chief 
of  Police  were  at  his  feet  begging  for  mercy. 

He  posted  a  notice  over  the  county  warning  every 
Negro  and  white  associate  that  no  further  insolence  or 
criminality  would  be  tolerated. 

The  county  and  municipal  elections  was  but  three  days 
off  and  there  was  but  one  ticket  on  the  field.  When  the 
white  men  elected  were  sworn  in,  the  guards  went  to  the 
woods  and  told  the  terrified  and  half-starving  Negroes 
they  could  return  to  their  homes,  a  competent  police 
force  was  organised,  and  the  volunteer  organisation 
disbanded.  Negro  refugees  and  their  associates  once 
more  filled  the  ear  of  the  national  government  with 
clamour  for  the  return  of  the  army  to  the  South  to 
uphold  Negro  power,  but  for  the  first  time  since  1867 
it  fell  on  deaf  ears.  The  Anglo-Saxon  race  had  been 
reunited.  The  Negro  was  no  longer  the  ward  of  the 
republic.  Henceforth,  he  must  stand  or  fall  on  his 
own  worth  and  pass  under  the  law  of  the  survival  of 
the  fittest. 

This  event  made  a  tremendous  impression  on  the 
imagination  of  the  people.  It  increased  the  popularity 
and  power  of  Gaston,  its  intended  victim. 

The  General  was  more  than  ever  determined  to  destroy 
Gaston's  power  in  the  convention  which  was  to  meet  in 
a  few  weeks.  He  had  his  candidate  for  Governor  well 
groomed  and  he  had  captured  the  largest  number  of 
pledged  delegates.  There  were  three  other  candidates, 
but  none  of  them  apparently  were  backed  by  Gaston. 
The  General  was  puzzled  at  his  methods,  and  failed  to 
discover  his  programme,  though  he  spent  money  with 
liberality  and  exhausted  every  resource  at  his  command. 

A  strange  thing   had   occurred   that  had  upset   all 


Another  Declaration  of  Independence      419 

calculations.  Beginning  at  Independence,  a  race  fire 
had  broken  into  resistless  fury  and  was  sweeping  along 
the  line  of  all  the  counties  on  the  South  Carolina 
border  and  over  the  entire  state  with  incredible 
rapidity.  Everywhere  the  white  men  were  arming 
themselves  and  parading  the  streets  and  public  roads 
in  cavalry  order,  dressed  in  scarlet  shirts.  This  Red 
Shirt  movement  was  a  spontaneous  combustion  of 
inflammable  racial  power  that  had  been  accumulating 
for  a  generation. 

The  Democratic  Executive  Committee  was  called 
together  in  haste  and  made  the  most  frantic  efforts  to 
stop  it.  But  there  was  no  head  to  it.  It  had  no  organi 
sation  except  a  local  one,  and  it  spread  by  a  spark 
flying  from  one  county  to  another. 

McLeod  laughed  at  the  address  of  the  Democratic 
Committee  and  swore  Gaston  was  the  organiser  of  the 
movement.  He  determined  to  nip  it  in  the  bud  by 
putting  Gaston  under  a  cloud  that  would  destroy  his 
influence.  He  did  not  dare  to  attack  him  for  his  part 
in  the  Revolution  at  Independence.  He  preferred  to 
belittle  that  affair  as  a  local  disturbance. 

But  at  an  election  f  3r  Congressman  to  fill  a  vacancy 
the  Democratic  candidate  had  won  by  a  narrow  margin 
in  a  campaign  of  great  bitterness  under  Gaston's  leader 
ship. 

Charges  of  fraud  were  freely  made  on  both  sides. 
McLeod  determined  to  utilise  these  charges,  and  by 
producing  perjured  witnesses  before  a  packed  court 
place  Gaston  in  jail  without  bail  until  the  convention 
had  met. 

He  had  every  advantage  in  such  a  conspiracy.  The 
United  States  judge  whom  he  intended  to  utilise  was  a 
creature  of  his  own  making,  a  trickster  whose  confirma 
tion  had  been  twice  defeated  in  the  Senate  by  the 


420  The  Leopard's  Spots 

members  of  his  own  party  on  his  shady  record.  But 
he  had  won  the  place  at  last  by  hook  and  crook,  and 
McLeod  owned  him  body  and  soul. 

Accordingly  Gaston  was  arrested  with  a  warrant 
McLeod  had  obtained  from  his  judge,  arraigned  before 
him  and  committed  without  bail.  He  was  charged  with 
a  felony  under  the  election  laws,  taken  to  Asheville  and 
placed  in  jail. 

The  audacity  of  this  arrest  and  the  vehemence  with 
which  McLeod  pressed  his  charges  created  a  profound 
sensation  in  the  state.  It  was  rumoured  that  the  graver 
charge  of  murder  lay  back  of  the  charge  of  felony  and 
would  be  pressed  in  due  time.  A  murder  had  been 
committed  in  the  district  during  the  exciting  campaign 
and  no  clue  had  ever  been  found  to  its  perpetrator. 
McLeod  knew  lie  had  no  evidence  connecting  Gaston 
with  this  event,  but  he  knew  that  he  had  henchmen  who 
would  swear  to  anything  he  told  them,  and  stick  to  it. 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  HEART  OF  A  WOMAN 

A  WEEK  after  Gaston's  imprisonment  Sallie  Worth 
arrived  in  New  York  from  her  last  trip  abroad. 
She  had  cut  her  trip  short  and  cabled  her  father 
of  her  return. 

She  was  in  an  agony  of  suspense  and  uncertainty  about 
her  lover.  Gaston's  letters  had  failed  to  reach  her  for  a 
month  by  reason  of  the  war  which  had  demoralised  the 
mail  service.  Her  own  letters  had  failed  to  reach 
Gaston  for  a  similar  reason. 

The  General  hastened  to  New  York  to  meet  his  wife 
and  daughter  and  persuade  Sallie  to  remain  in  the  North 
until  December.  He  was  hopeful  now  that  her  long 
absence  and  Gaston's  absorption  in  politics,  his  bitter 
opposition  to  him  personally,  and  the  cloud  under  which 
he  rested  in  prison,  would  be  the  final  forces  that  would 
give  him  the  victory  in  thf  long  conflict  he  had  waged 
for  the  mastery  of  his  daugt  ter's  heart. 

Before  informing  Sallie  of  the  stirring  events  at 
Independence  and  the  part  Gaston  had  taken  in  them, 
or  allowing  her  to  learn  of  his  imprisonment,  the  General 
sought  to  find  the  exact  state  of  her  mind. 

"I  trust,  Sallie,"  he  began,  "you  are  recovering  from 
your  infatuation  for  this  man.  You  know  how  dearly 
I  love  you.  I  have  never  taken  a  step  in  life  since  I 
looked  into  your  baby  face  that  wasn't  for  you  and  your 
happiness." 

She  only  looked  at  him  wistfully  and  her  eyes  seemed 
to  be  dreaming. 

421 


422  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"I  want  you  to  have  some  pride.  Gaston  has 
attempted  to  kick  me  out  of  the  councils  of  the  party 
and  become  the  dictator  of  the  state.  His  course  is 
one  of  violence  and  radicalism.  I  regard  him  as  a 
dangerous  man,  and  I  want  you  to  have  nothing  to  do 
with  him." 

She  was  gravely  silent. 

"Do  you  believe  he  has  been  faithfully  dreaming  of 
you  in  your  absence?"  asked  the  General. 

"Yes,  I  do." 

"Then  let  me  disabuse  your  mind.  It  is  not  the  way 
of  strong  men.  He  is  absolutely  absorbed  in  a  desperate 
political  struggle  in  which  his  personal  ambitions  are 
first.  I  have  seen  him  paying  the  most  devoted  atten 
tions  to  the  daughter  of  our  rival  down  east,  whose 
influence  he  wants,  and  it  is  rumoured  among  his  friends 
that  he  has  proposed  to  her." 

"Who  told  you  that?"  she  asked,  impetuously. 

"I  had  it  first  from  Allan,  but  I've  heard  it  since 
from  others." 

"I  do  not  believe  a  word  of  it,"  she  declared. 

"That's  because  you're  a  woman  and  hold  such  silly 
ideals.  I  tell  you  he  wants  you  only  because  he  knows 
you  are  rich,  and  he  wishes  to  browbeat  me.  Such  a 
man  will  try  to  whip  you  before  you  have  been  his  wife 
five  years.  I  know  that  kind  of  man.  Why  can't  you 
trust  my  judgment?" 

"I  had  rather  trust  my  heart's  intuitions,  Papa.  I 
cannot  be  deceived  in  such  a  question." 

"Well,  you  are  being  deceived.  He  is  anything  but 
a  languishing  lover.  At  present  he  is  a  political  tiger  at 
bay.  Unless  you  hold  him  to  you  by  some  pledge  he 
has  given,  he  will  forget  you  and  marry  another  in  two 
years.  I  am  a  man  and  I  know  men.  I  thought  I  was 
desperately  in  love  twice  before  I  met  your  mot1ier.  I 


The  Heart  of  a  Woman  423 

got  over  both  attacks  without  a  scratch,  fell  in  love  with 
her,  married,  and  have  lived  happily  ever  since.  You 
have  overestimated  your  own  importance  to  him  and 
your  influence  over  him." 

A  great  fear  awed  her  into  silence.  For  the  first  time 
in  all  her  struggle  with  her  father  the  sense  suddenly 
came  into  her  heart  of  her  dependence  on  Gaston's  love 
for  the  very  desire  to  live,  and  for  the  first  time  she 
realised  the  possibility  of  losing  him.  What  if  he 
should  press  his  great  ambitions  to  successful  issue 
while  she  stood  irresolute  and  tortured  him  with  her 
indecision?  If  he  could  win  the  world's  applause 
without  her,  might  he  not  when  successful,  cease  to 
need  her  ?  Her  breast  heaved  with  the  tumult  of  uncer 
tainty.  What  if  another  woman  saw  and  loved  him, 
and  drew  near  to  him  in  his  hours  of  soul  loneliness 
and  struggle,  and  he  had  learned  to  see  her  face  with 
joy !  The  conviction  came  crushing  upon  her  that 
she  had  not  responded  bravely  to  this  powerful  man's 
singular  devotion  into  which  he  had  poured  without 
reserve  his  deepest  passion.  Had  he  weighed  her  and 
found  her  wanting  in  some  dark  hour  in  her  absence? 
Her  heart  was  in  her  throat  at  the  thought. 

The  General  watched  her  keenly  for  several  moments, 
and  thought  at  last  he  had  broken  the  spell.  He 
believed  he  could  now  tell  her  of  the  cloud  that  hung 
over  Gaston. 

"I  said,  Sallie,  that  I  believed  Gaston  a  dangerous 
man.  I  did  not  speak  lightly.  We  have  had  terrible 
riots  in  Independence  while  you  were  absent  in  which 
Gaston  was  the  leader  of  an  armed  revolution  which 
overturned  the  city  and  county  government.  Two 
thousand  men  were  under  arms  for  a  week  and  several 
were  killed  and  wounded  on  both  sides.  The  results 
were  good  as  a  whole,  I  confess.  We  have  a  decent 


424  The  Leopard's  Spots 

government  and  we  have  security  of  property  and  life, 
but  such  methods  will  lead  to  civil  war." 

Her  face  grew  tense,  and  she  looked  at  her  father  with 
breathless  interest  during  this  recital. 

"Was  he  in  danger  in  those  riots?"  she  slowly 
asked. 

"Yes,  and  I  expect  him  to  be  killed  at  an  early  day 
if  he  continues  his  present  methods.  A  mob  of  five 
hundred  Negroes  attempted  to  kill  him.  This  was  one 
of  the  causes  that  led  to  the  revolution." 

She  was  on  her  feet  now,  pale  and  trembling  with 
excitement. 

"Where  is  he?"  she  gasf °,d. 

"Now,  my  dear,  it's  useless  to  get  excited.  The 
trouble  is  all  over  and  a  new  mayor  and  police  force  are 
in  charge  of  the  city.  But  he  is  resting  under  a  serious 
cloud  at  present.  He  is  held  in  jail  at  Asheville  on  a 
charge  of  felony,  and  a  charge  of  murder  is  being 
pressed." 

"  In  jail !  In  jail ! "  she  cried,  incredulously,  while  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"Yes;  and  Allan  believes  these  ugly  charges  will  be 
proved  in  the  United  States  court  and  he  will  be 
convicted." 

She  did  not  seem  to  hear  the  last  sentence. 

•"In  jail!"  she  repeated,  "my  lover,  to  whom  I  have 
given  my  life,  and  you,  my  father,  while  I  was  three 
thousand  miles  away,  stood  by  and  did  not  lift  a  hand 
to  help  him?" 

"Has  he  not  been  my  bitterest  enemy,  seeking  to 
insult  me!"  thundered  the  General. 

'*  No !  He  never  insulted  you  or  spoke  one  unkind 
word  about  you  in  his  life.  Oh,  this  is  shameful  t  God 
forgive  me  that  I  was  not  here  I "  Tears  were  streaming 
down  her  face. 


The  Heart  of  a  Woman  425 

"You  hold  me  responsible  for  the  crazy  young  scamp's 
career?"  cried  the  General,  indignantly. 

"Not  another  word  to  me!"  she  exclaimed.  "You 
shall  not  abuse  him  in  my  presence." 

The  General  was  afraid  of  her  when  she  used  the  tone 
of  voice  in  which  she  uttered  that  sentence.  He  had 
heard  it  but  once  before,  and  that  was  when  she  told  him 
she  was  a  free  woman,  twenty-one  years  old,  and  he  had 
broken  down.  He  looked  at  her  now,  fearing  to  speak. 
At  length  he  said: 

"I  have  engaged  a  suite  of  rooms  for  you  here,  my 
dear,  for  the  winter.  I  hope  you  will  enjoy  the  season. 
Let  us  change  this  painful  subject." 

"I  do  not  want  the  rooms,"  she  firmly  replied ;  "I  am 
going  to  Asheville  on  the  first  train." 

The  General  stormed  and  raged  for  an  hour,  but  she 
made  no  reply.  Her  mother  was  suffering  from  the 
effects  of  the  voyage  and  took  no  part  in  this  storm. 

"  But  your  mother  will  not  be  able  to  accompany  you. 
Surely  you  will  not  disgrace  me  by  visiting  that  man 
in  jail!" 

"I  will.  And  when  he  is  released  I  will  return.  I 
will  visit  Stella  Holt.  I  shall  have  ample  protection." 

The  General  was  afraid  o  oppose  her  in  this  dangerous 
mood,  and  begged  her  mother  to  try  to  prevent  her 
going.  Sallie  sent  Gaston  a  telegram  that  she  was 
coming. 

In  obedience  to  the  General's  request,  her  mother 
called  her  into  her  room  that  night  and  they  had  a  long 
talk  and  cry  in  each  other's  arms. 

Mrs.  Worth  did  not  try  very  hard  to  persuade  her 
not  to  go.  Down  in  her  own  woman's  soul  she  knew 
what  she  would  do  under  similar  conditions,  and  she 
was  too  honest  with  her  child  to  try  to  deceive  her. 
She  only  made  love  to  her  mother-fashion. 


426  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"Oh!  Mamma,"  cried  Sallie,  burying  her  face  beside 
her  mother  as  she  lay  in  bed.  "  I  am  at  a  great  soul  crisis. 
I  don't  know  what  to  do.  I  feel  lonely,  helpless  and 
heartsick.  You  are  a  woman.  Put  your  dear  arms 
about  me  and  help  me  to  know  the  truth  and  my  duty. 
I  want  to  ask  you  a  question." 

"What  is  it,  darling?  I'll  answer  it  if  I  can,"  she 
replied,  stroking  her  dark  hair  tenderly. 

"Do  you  believe  these  stories  about  Charlie's  char 
acter?" 

"Not  one  word  of  them!"  she  promptly  answered. 
An  impulsive  kiss  and  a  sob. 

"Dear  Mother!"  she  said,  in  a  low,  tearful  voice. 
"And  now  one  more.  Papa  has  been  dinning  into  my 
ears  his  own  fickleness  in  love  when  young  and  the 
fact  that  he  knows  in  a  long  life  that  love  is  of  little 
importance  in  a  man's  existence.  He  says  that  I  can 
forget  and  love  again  with  equal  intensity  and  better 
jmdgment.  Can  one  treat  thus  lightly  the  soul's  deepest 
instincts  and  still  find  life  rich  and  worthy  of  effort?" 

Her  voice  broke,  and  she  continued  slowly  and 
tremblingly,  as  she  held  one  of  her  mother's  hands 
tightly: 

"Now,  Mamma,  dear,  hea^v  co  heart,  tell  me  as  you 
would  talk  in  your  inmost  soul  to  God,  do  you  believe 
this  is  true?  You  have  sounded  life's  deep  meaning. 
Is  this  all  you  know  of  life?  You  love  me.  Tell  me 
truly?" 

"No,  darling;  a  woman  cannot  deny  this  deep  yearn 
ing  of  her  soul  and  live.  I  would  tear  my  tongue  out 
sooner  than  deceive  you  in  such  an  hour." 

"Sweet  Mother!"  she  softly  murmured  again  as  she 
kissed  her  good-night. 


CHAPTER  XII 
THE  SPLENDOUR  OF  SHAMELESS  LOVE 

WHEN  Gaston  received  her  telegram  in  jail  he 
was  seated  by  a  window  looking  out  through 
the  bars  on  Mt.  Pisgah's  distant  peak  loom 
ing  in  grandeur  amid  a  sea  of  smaller  blue  mountain 
waves.  He  read  the  message  and  his  soul  was  filled 
with  a  great  peace. 

"At  last!  These  prison  bars,  they  are,  good.  I 
could  kiss  them.  I  can  neve.-  be  grateful  enough  to 
my  enemies." 

He  had  taken  his  prison  as  a  joke  from  the  first, 
sneering  at  the  judge  who  had  committed  him.  He 
knew  that  every  day  he  stayed  in  that  jail  he  was 
becoming  more  and  more  the  master  of  the  people.  If 
McLeod  had  tried  he  could  not  have  played  into  his 
hands  with  more  fatal  certainty.  Five  hundred  citizens 
of  Independence  had  wired  him  their  congratulations 
and  offered  him  any  assistance  he  desired,  from  unlimited 
money  for  defense  to  a  delegation  to  tear  the  jail  down. 

He  declined  any  assistance.  He  knew  the  storm 
would  break  over  their  heads  soon  enough,  and  they 
would  be  delighted  to  get  rid  of  him .  In  the  meantime 
he  gave  himself  up  to  his  thoughts  about  the  woman 
he  loved,  and  wondered  what  change  had  suddenly 
come  over  her  to  send  him  that  message.  He  felt  sure 
the  great  crisis  in  their  life  had  come.  What  would  it 
be?  A  sorrowful  surrender  on  her  part  to  her  father's 
iron  will  and  a  tearful  good-by  forever,  or  the  full 

427 


428  The  Leopard's  Spots 

surrender  of  her  woman's  soul  and  body  to  the  dominion 
of  his  love? 

He  was  glad  the  hour  had  struck  that  should  decide. 
He  trembled  at  the  import  of  her  answer,  but  he  was 
ready  to  receive  it. 

A  carriage  rolled  into  the  jail  enclosure  and  two 
young  ladies  alighted.  One  of  them  stopped  in  the 
sitting-room  for  visitors,  and  he  heard  the  tramp  of  a 
man's  heavy  feet  on  the  stairs,  and  after  it  the  tread 
of  a  woman  like  a  soft  echo. 

The  key  grated  in  the  lock;  the  door  opened.  She 
looked  into  his  eyes  for  just  an  instant  of  searching 
soul  revelation,  saw  the  yearning  and  the  grateful  tears, 
and  with  a  glad  cry  sprang  into  his  arms. 

"You  do  love  me  !"  she  passionately  cried. 

"Love  you?  I  drew  you  back  across  the  sea  with 
iny  love.  I  knew  you  would  come.  I  willed  it  with  a 
power  you  couldn't  resist." 

"I  never  got  your  letters,  and  I  was  hungry  to  see 
you,"  she  whispered. 

"And  I  never  got  yours,  and  drew  you  back  by  the 
power  of  a  great  heart  purpose." 

"Forgive  me,  for  being  away  from  you  when  you 
were  in  danger." 

"I  was  glad  you  were  safe.  Don't  let  this  jail  alarm 
you.  I'll  be  out  too  soon  for  my  good,  I'm  afraid." 

"No  other  woman  has  come  into  your  heart  to  cheer 
it,  even  with  her  friendship,  since  I've  been  away,  has 
she?" 

"What  a  silly  question.  I've  never  looked  at  any 
other  woman  since  the  day  I  first  saw  you." 

"Tell  me  you  love  me  again!" 

"I — love — you,  unto  the  uttermost,  in  life,  in  death, 
forever!"  he  whispered,  tenderly. 

She  sighed  and  smiled.     "The  sweetest  music  the 


The  Splendour  of  Shameless  Love       429 

ear  of  a  woman  ever  heard!"  she  half  laughed,  half 
cried. 

"Now,  my  dear,  you  are  a  full-grown  woman  in  the 
beauty  of  a  perfect  womanhood.  For  five  years  and 
more,  I  have  waited  and  suffered.  My  life  is  an  open 
book  before  you.  When  are  you  going  to  end  this 
suspense  ?  You  must  decide  now  whether  your  father's 
will  shall  rule  your  life  or  my  love." 

"  Must  I  decide  to-day?  "  she  asked,  tremblingly. 

"Yes,"  he  answered.  "It  is  not  fair  to  torture  me 
longer." 

"Then  I  give  up!"  she  tearfully  exclaimed.  "God 
forgive  me  if  I  am  doing  wrong !  I  cannot  resist  you 
longer.  I  do  not  desire  to — I  will  not.  I  am  all  yours, 
forever — soul,  body,  will,  honour,  life — all.  I  cannot 
live  without  you.  I  love  you.  /  love  you!  Kiss  me ! 
Again — Ah,  your  lips  are  sweeter  than  honey !  Am 
I  bold  to  say  it?  I  do  not  care,  I  am  yours.  Your 
arms  are  the  bonds  of  my  slavery,  and  they  are  sweet." 

Gaston  was  trembling  with  the  joy  that  flooded  his 
being  with  these  the  first  words  of  perfect  faith  and 
submissive  love  that  had  come  from  her  lips.  And  he 
winced  at  the  memory  now  of  those  hours  of  dissipation 
when  he  had  doubted  her.  He  tried  to  confess  it  and 
receive  her  absolution. 

"My  dear,  my  joy  is  too  great.  It  is  pain,  as  well 
as  joy.  In  the  dark  days  of  our  first  year  of  separation 
I  thought  once  you  had  forgotten  me.  I  went  away 
into  two  weeks  of  debauchery.  Your  perfect  love 
crushes  me  with  its  beauty  and  purity.  I  must  confess 
this  wrong  to  you.  I  must  not  deceive  you  in  the 
smallest  thing  in  this  hour." 

She  placed  her  hand  over  his  lips.  "I  will  not  hear  it. 
I  ought  to  have  been  braver  and  fought  for  my  rights 
and  yours.  I  will  not  hear  one  word  of  humiliation 


43°  The  Leopard's  Spots 

from  you.  I  love  you.  You  are  my  king.  I  love  you, 
good  or  bad.  I  would  love  you  if  you  were  a  murderer 
on  the  gallows.  I  cannot  help  it.  I  do  not  wish  to 
help  it.  I  will  follow  you  to  the  bottomless  pit  or  to  the 
throne  of  God  and  say  it  without  fear  to  devil  or  angel. 
Kiss  me  again !  There,  do  not  cry.  Let  me  see  your 
beautiful  brown  eyes.  I'll  kiss  the  tears  away.  Tears 
are  for  my  eyes,  not  yours." 

"Then  you  will  fix  the  day,  dear?"  he  softly  urged. 

"How  soon  would  you  like  it?" 

"The  sooner  the  better." 

"Then  I  fix  to-day,"  she  said,  impulsively. 

"What,  here,  in  this  jail?" 

"Yes.  Where  you  are  is  heaven  to  me.  I  haven't 
noticed  the  jail,"  she  said,  soberly. 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment,  strained  her  to  his  heart 
and  brushed  the  tears  of  joy  from  his  eyes. 

"My  beautiful  queen  !  This  hour  is  worth  every  pain 
and  every  throb  of  anguish  I  have  suffered.  Its  memory 
will  encompass  life  with  a  great  light." 

"I'll  go  with  Stella,  see  Doctor  Durham,  who  is  here 
looking  after  your  case,  have  him  get  the  license,  and 
we  will  be  back  in  half  an  hour." 

The  Preacher  greeted  her  with  delight.  "Ah!  Miss 
Sallie,  if  I  had  known  a  little  thing  like  this  would  hav^ 
brought  you  back,  I  would  have  hired  a  jail  for  him 
long  ago  and  put  him  in  it." 

"Doctor,  I  want  you  to  get  the  license  and  marry  us 
now.  Will  you  do  it  ?" 

"Will  I?  Just  watch  me.  I'll  have  the  documents 
and  be  ready  for  the  ceremony  in  fifteen  minutes!" 
cried  the  Preacher,  as  he  hurried  to  the  office  of  the 
Register  of  Deeds. 

Sallie  ran  up  to  Mrs.  Durham's  room,  told  her,  and 
asked  her  to  be  one  of  the  witnesses. 


The  Splendour  of  Shameless  Love      431 

"Of  course  I  will,  Sallie.  You  are  the  one  girl  in  the 
world  I  have  always  wanted  Charlie  to  marry." 

Sallie  slipped  her  arm  around  Mrs.  Durham.  "You 
don't  think  I  am  doing  wrong  to  disobey  my  parents 
thus,  do  you  ?  "  she  faltered.  "  I  feel  just  for  a  moment, 
now  that  I  have  decided,  bruised  and  homesick — I  want 
my  mother.  Let  me  feel  your  arms  about  my  neck  just 
once.  You  are  a  woman.  You  love  me  as  well  as  Charlie ; 
tell  me,  am  I  doing  wrong?  " 

Mrs.  Durham  kissed  her.  "  I  do  love  you  child.  It  is 
a  solemn  hour  for  your  soul.  You  alone  can  decide  such 
a  question.  Any  intrusion  of  advice  in  such  a  trial  would 
be  a  sacrilege.  Under  ordinary  conditions  it  would  be  a 
dangerous  thing  for  a  girl  thus  to  leave  her  father's 
roof  and  take  this  step  that  will  decide  forever  her 
destiny.  Marriage  is  something  that  swallows  up  life, 
the  past,  the  present,  the  future.  We  seem  to  have 
never  known  anything  else.  I  can  only  say,  if  I  were 
in  your  place,  knowing  all,  I  would  do  as  your  are 
doing." 

Sallie  impulsively  kissed  her,  bit  her  lips  to  keep  back 
a  tear,  and  held  her  hand. 

"I  know  your  father  well,"  she  continued.  "He  is  a 
man  I  greatly  admire.  But  he  is  unreasonable  with  any 
one  who  dares  to  cross  his  will.  You  could  never  get 
his  consent  now  that  his  pride  is  aroused  except  by 
forcing  it.  When  it  is  over,  he  will  forgive  you, 
and  when  he  knows  your  lover  as  I  know  him  he 
will  be  as  proud  of  his  son-in-law  as  a  peacock  of  his 
phimage." 

"  It  is  sweet  to  hear  just  the  advice  one  wishes  in  such 
an  hour,"  cried  Sallie.  "I  shall  always  love  you  for 
these  words." 

"  Yes,  I  congratulate  you  on  the  end  of  your  long  hesi 
tation.  I  know  you  will  be  happy.  Any  woman  would 


432  The  Leopard's  Spots 

be  happy  with  the  love  of  such  a  man,  and  he  was  made 
for  you." 

"Then  you  don't  believe  with  Papa,"  she  said,  with 
a  smile,  "that  his  mouth  is  cruel,  and  that  he  will  try 
to  whip  me  in  five  years,  do  you?  " 

Mrs.  Durham  laughed.  "Yes,  he  will  whip  you,  but 
they  will  be  love  licks  and  you  will  cry  for  more.  Your 
lover  is  a  rare  and  brilliant  man.  He  is  strong,  rugged, 
resistless  in  will,  fierce  in  his  passions  from  the  blood 
of  sunny  France  in  his  veins,  and  masterful  in  life  from 
the  iron  heritage  of  the  hardier  races.  You  have  seen 
these  traits.  Wait  until  you  know  him  as  I  do  in  his 
daily  life,  and  you  will  find  a  wealth  of  patience  and  a 
depth  of  tenderness  that  will  startle.  I  envy  you." 

"Thank  you,"  Sallie  interrupted.  "You  don't  know 
how  glad  your  words  are  to  my  heart.  I've  not  seen 
much  of  that  trait  yet.  I've  been  half  afraid  of  him 
sometimes.  Let  me  kiss  you  again." 

The  keeper  of  the  jail  treated  Gaston  with  every  con 
sideration  and  arranged  for  the  marriage  to  take  place 
in  the  little  sitting-room,  where  he  allowed  him  to  come 
on  parole. 

The  bride  wore  a  plain  travelling  dress  in  which  she 
had  come  from  New  York.  She  had  driven  from  the 
depot  past  Stella  Holt's  home,  and  with  her  straight  to 
the  jail. 

Gaston  thought  her  the  fairest  vision  that  ever  greeted 
the  eye  of  man  as  he  stood  by  her  side;  for  he  had  seen 
that  day  the  soul  of  a  radiantly  beautiful  woman  in  the 
splendour  of  shameless  love.  His  own  soul  was  drunk 
with  the  joy  of  it  all,  and  his  eyes  now  devoured  her 
with  their  intense  light. 

Standing  there  before  the  Preacher  whom  he  loved  as 
his  father,  and  the  foster  mother  who  had  wrapped  his 
little  shivering  body  in  the  warmth  of  a  great  heart  that 


The  Splendour  of  Shameless  Love      433 

night  the  light  of  life  went  out  in  his  own  mother's  room, 
with  Stella  Holt's  sympathetic  face  reflecting  her  friend's 
happiness,  the  marriage  ceremony  was  performed.  He 
took  Sallie's  trembling  hand  in  his  and  promised  to  love, 
honour  and  cherish  her  as  long  as  life  endured.  And 
under  his  breath  he  added,  "Here  and  hereafter — for 
ever."  And  then  she  looked  into  his  smiling  face  with 
her  blue  eyes  full  of  unspeakable  love,  and  in  a  voice 
low  and  soft  as  the  note  of  a  flute  gave  to  him  her  life.1 

And  the  Preacher  said,  "What  God  hath  joined 
together,  let  not  man  put  asunder." 

She  stayed  there  with  him  until  the  gathering 
twilight. 

"  Now  I  must  hurry  back  to  my  father  and  win  him.  I 
will  not  come  to  you  a  beggar.  My  father  shall  not  dis 
inherit  me.  I  am  going  to  bring  you  my  fortune,  too." 

"Oh,  curse  that  fortune,  dear!  I've  feared  it  was 
that  keeping  us  apart  so  long." 

"Don't  curse  it.  I  like  it,  and  I  am  going  to  win  it 
for  you.  You  are  a  man  of  genius.  Your  success  is  as 
sure  as  if  it  were  already  won.  I  will  not  come  to  you  a 
helpless  pauper.  I  have  never  been  taught  to  do  any 
thing.  I  should  like  to  cook  for  you  if  I  knew  how,  and 
I  am  going  to  learn  how.  I  am  going  to  make  you  the 
most  beautiful  home  that  the  heart  of  a  woman  can 
dream.  I'd  rob  the  world  for  treasure  for  it.  I  am 
going  to  rob  my  dear  old  father.  He  has  sworn  to 
disinherit  me  if  I  marry  without  his  consent.  He  shall 
not  do  it." 

"Then  dcn't  be  long  about  it.  You  are  my  treasure. 
I  can  build  you  a  snug  little  nest  at  Hambright." 

"  I  will  only  ask  four  weeks.  Now  do  what  I  tell  you. 
Sit  down  and  write  Papa  a  letter  telling  him  I  am  your 
affianced  bride  and  ask  his  consent  to  the  celebration  of 
our  marriage  within  three  weeks.  That  will  produce  an 


434  The  Leopard's  Spots 

earthquake,  and  something  will  surely  happen  within 
four  weeks." 

He  wrote  the  letter,  and  she  looked  over  his  shoulder. 

"You  see,  dear,"  she  said,  as  she  kissed  him  good-by, 
"I  love  Papa  so  tenderly.  You  can't  understand  how 
close  the  tie  is  between  us ;  perhaps  some  day  in  our  own 
home  of  which  I'm  dreaming  you  may  understand  as  you 
cannot  now,"  she  added,  softly. 

"Then  for  your  sake,  dearest,  I  hope  you  can  win 
him.  But  I'm  afraid  of  this  plan  of  yours." 

"Leave  it  with  me  for  a  month,  do  just  as  I  tell  you, 
and  then  I'll  obey  you  all  the  rest  of  our  lives — if  your 
orders  suit  me,"  she  playfully  added. 

She  returned  to  Stella  Holt's,  and  Gaston  went  back  to 
his  jail  room  and  dreamed  that  night  he  was  sleeping  in 
the  Governor's  Palace. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
A  SPEECH  THAT  MADE  HISTORY 

WHEN   General  Worth  received  Gastcn's  brief 
and  startling  letter  the  -wires  were  hot  be 
tween  New  York  and  Asheville  for  hours. 
His  last  message  was  a  peremptory  command  to  his 
daughter  to  join  him  immediately  at  Independence. 

When  Sallie  arrived  at  Oakwood  the  General  was 
already  there,  and  the  storm  broke  in  all  its  fury.  At 
every  bitter  word  she  only  quietly  smiled,  until  the 
General  was  on  the  verge  of  collapse.  Day  after  day 
he  begged,  pleaded,  raged  and  finally  took  to  hard 
swearing  as  he  looked  into  her  calm,  happy  face. 

In  the  meantime,  McLeod  and  his  henchman  on  the 
judge's  bench  had  seen  a  new  light.  The  excitement  over 
the  arrest  of  Gaston  seemed  to  have  fanned  the  flames  of 
the  Red  Shirt  movement  into  a  conflagration.  He  was 
alarmed  at  its  meaning.  The  judge  heard  a  rumour  that 
five  thousand  Red  Shirts  were  mobilising  at  the  foot  of 
the  Blue  Ridge  near  Hambright,  and  that  they  were 
going  to  march  across  the  mountains  into  Asheville, 
demolish  the  jail,  liberate  Gaston,  and  hang  the  judge 
who  had  committed  him  without  bail. 
i  The  rumour  was  a  fake,  but  he  was  not  taking  any 
chances.  He  issued  an  order  releasing  Gaston  on  his 
own  recognisance,  and  left  for  a  vacation. 

Gaston  returned  to  Hambright  showered  with  con 
gratulatory  telegrams  from  every  quarter  of  the  state. 

He  received  a  brief  note  from  Sallie  saying  the  war 

435 


436  The  Leopard's  Spots 

was  on  but  had  not  reached  its  final  climax,  as  the 
General  was  now  devoting  his  best  energies  to  the 
Democratic  convention  which  was  to  meet  in  ten 
days,  when  he  expected  to  crush  any  "fool  movement 
of  young  upstarts  !  " 

Gaston  knew  of  his  organisation,  but  he  was  sure  the 
number  of  delegates  pledged  to  the  General's  machine 
was  not  enough  to  dominate  the  body,  even  if  he  could 
hold  them  in  line. 

When  this  convention  met  at  Raleigh,  no  body  of 
representative  men  were  ever  more  completely  at  sea  as 
to  the  platform  or  policy  upon  which  they  would  appeal 
to  the  people  for  the  overthrow  of  an  enemy.  The  coali 
tion  that  conquered  the  state  and  held  it  with  the  grip  of 
steel  for  four  years  was  stronger  than  ever  and  was 
absolutely  certain  of  victory.  The  enormous  patronage 
of  the  Federal  Government  had  been  in  their  hands  for 
four  years,  and  with  the  state,  county  and  municipal 
officers,  a  host  of  powerful  leaders  had  been  gathered 
around  McLeod's  daring  personality.  Apparently 
he  was  about  to  fasten  the  rule  of  the  Negro  and  his 
allies  on  the  state  for  a  generation. 

When  Gaston  entered  the  convention  hall  he  received 
an  ovation,  heartfelt  and  generous,  but  it  did  not  reach 
the  point  of  a  disturbing  element  in  the  calculations  of 
the  three  or  four  prominent  candidates  for  Governor. 
General  Worth  had  drilled  his  cohorts  so  thoroughly 
in  opposition  to  him  that  any  sort  of  stampeding  was 
out  of  the  question. 

The  platform  committee  was  composed  of  seven 
leaders,  among  whom  was  Gaston.  There  was  a  long 
wrangle  over  the  document,  and  at  length  when  they 
reported  a  sensation  was  created.  For  the  first  time 
since  their  triumph  over  Simon  Legree  the  committee 
was  divided,  and,  refusing  to  agree,  submitted  majority 


A  Speech  that  Made  History          437 

and  minority  reports.  The  committee  stood  five  for 
the  majority  and  two  for  the  minority. 
'  Gaston  and  a  daring  young  politician  from  the  heart 
of  the  Black  Belt  signed  the  minority  report.  The 
majority  report  as  submitted  was  merely  a  rehash  of 
the  old  platform  on  which  they  had  been  defeated  by 
McLeod  twice,  with  slight  additional  impeachment  of 
the  incapacity  and  corruption  of  the  State  administra 
tion.  The  delegates  from  the  Black  Belt  and  the  coun 
ties  where  the  Red  Shirts  had  been  holding  their  parades 
received  it  with  silence.  General  Worth's  machine 
cheered  it  vigorously,  and  gave  a  rousing  reception  to 
their  chosen  champion  who  made  the  presentation  speech. 

When  Gaston  rose  to  offer  and  defend  his  minority 
report,  a  sudden  hush  fell  on  the  sea  of  eager  faces. 
A  few  men  in  the  convention  had  heard  him  speak.  All 
had  heard  he  was  an  orator  of  power,  and  were  anxious 
to  see  him.  His  leadership  in  the  revolution  of  Inde 
pendence  and  his  subsequent  arrest  and  imprisonment 
had  made  him  a  famous  man. 

"Mr.  Chairman  and  Gentlemen  of  the  Convention," 
he  began  with  a  deliberate  clear  voice  which  spoke  of 
greater  reserve  power  than  the  words  he  uttered  con 
veyed — "I  move  to  substitute  for  this  document  of 
meaningless  platitudes  the  following  resolution  on  which 
to  make  this  campaign." 

You  could  have  heard  a  pin  fall,  as  in  ringing  tones 
like  the  call  of  a  bugle  to  battle  he  read  : 
''WHEREAS,  it  is  impossible  to  build  a  state  inside  a 

state  of  two  antagonistic  races;  and, 
"WHEREAS,  the  future  North  Carolinian  must  therefore 

be  an  Anglo-Saxon  or  a  Mulatto, 

"Resolved,  that  the  hour  has  now  come  in  our  history  to 
eliminate  the  Negro  from  our  life  and  reestab 
lish  for  all  time  the  government  of  our  fathers/' 


438  The  Leopard's  Spots 

The  delegates  from  New  Hanover,  Craven  and  Hali 
fax  counties,  the  great  centers  of  the  Black  Belt,  sprang 
on  their  seats  with  a  roar  of  applause  that  shook  the 
building,  and  pandemonium  broke  loose.  When  one 
great  wave  subsided  another  followed.  It  was  ten 
minutes  before  order  was  restored,  while  Gaston  stood 
calmly  surveying  the  storm. 

Just  before  him  sat  General  Worth,  pale  and  trem 
bling  with  excitement.  The  audacity  of  those  resolutions 
had  swept  him  for  a  moment  off  his  feet  and  back  into 
the  years  of  his  own  daring  young  manhood.  He 
could  not  help  admiring  this  challenge  of  the  modern 
world  to  stand  at  the  bar  of  elemental  manhood  and 
make  good  its  right  to  existence.  He  was  about  to 
summon  his  messengers  and  rally  his  lieutenants  when 
Gaston  began  to  speak,  and  his  first  words  chained  his 
attention. 

While  the  tumult  raised  by  his  resolutions  was  in  prog 
ress  Gaston  lifted  his  eyes  toward  the  gallery,  and  there 
just  above  him  where  it  curved  toward  the  platform 
sat  his  beautiful  secret  bride.  His  heart  leaped.  Her 
face  was  aflame  with  emotion,  her  eyes  flashing  with 
love  and  pride.  She  slyly  touched  with  her  lips  the  tip 
of  her  finger  and  blew  a  kiss  across  the  intervening 
space.  He  smiled  into  her  soul  a  look  of  gratitude, 
and  with  every  nerve  strung  to  its  highest  tension 
resumed  his  place  by  the  speakers'  stand.  When  the 
tumult  died  away  he  began  a  speech  that  fixed  the 
history  of  the  state  for  a  thousand  years. 

His  resolutions  had  wrought  the  crowd  to  the  highest 
pitch  of  excitement,  and  his  words,  clear,  penetrating 
and  deliberate,  thrilled  his  hearers  with  electrical  power. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  and  the  slightest  whisper  was 
hushed,  "the  history  of  man  is  a  series  of  great  pulse- 
beats,  whose  flood  overwhelms  his  future  and  fixes  its 


A  Speech  that  Made  History          439 

life.  Like  the  dammed  torrent  on  a  mountainside,  it 
breaks  the  conservatism  that  holds  it  stagnant  for 
generations  and  floods  the  world  with  its  sweep. 
Theories,  creeds  and  institutions  hallowed  by  age 
are  cast  as  rubbish  on  the  scarred  hills  that  mark  its 
course.  The  old  world  is  buried  and  a  new  one  appears. 

"The  Anglo-Saxon  is  entering  the  new  century  with 
the  imperial  crown  of  the  ages  on  his  brow  and  the 
scepter  of  the  infinite  in  his  hands. 

"The  Old  South  fought  against  the  stars  in  their 
courses — the  resistless  tide  of  the  rising  consciousness 
of  Nationality  and  World-Mission.  The  young  South, 
greets  the  new  era  and  glories  in  its  manhood.  He 
joins  his  voice  in  the  cheers  of  triumph  which  are  usher 
ing  in  this  all-conquering  Saxon.  Our  old  men  dreamed 
of  local  supremacy.  We  dream  of  the  conquest  of  the 
globe.  Threads  of  steel  have  knit  state  to  state.  Steam 
and  electricity  have  silently  transformed  the  face  of 
the  earth,  annihilated  time  and  space,  and  swept  the 
ocean  barriers  from  the  path  of  man.  The  black 
steam  shuttles  of  commerce  have  woven  continent  to 
continent. 

"We  believe  that  God  has  raised  up  our  race,  as  he 
ordained  Israel  of  old,  in  this  world-crisis  to  establish 
and  maintain  for  weaker  races,  as  a  trust  for  civilisa 
tion,  the  principles  of  civil  and  religious  Liberty  and 
the  forms  of  Constitutional  Government. 

"In  this  hour  of  crisis,  our  flag  has  been  raised  over 
ten  millions  of  semi-barbaric  black  men  in  the  foulest 
slave  pen  of  the  Orient.  Shall  we  repeat  the  farce  of 
'67,  reverse  the  order  of  nature,  and  make  these  black 
people  our  rulers?  If  not,  why  should  the  African 
here,  who  is  not  their  equal,  be  allowed  to  imperil 
our  life?  " 

A  whirlwind  of  applause  shook  the  building. 


44°  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"A  crisis  approaches  in  the  history  of  the  human 
race.  The  world  is  stirred  by  its  consciousness  to-day. 
The  nation  must  gird  up  her  loins  and  show  her  right 
to  live — to  master  the  future  or  be  mastered  in 
the  struggle.  New  questions  press  upon  us  for 
solution. 

"Shall  this  grand  old  commonwealth  lag  behind  and 
sink  into  the  filth  and  degradation  of  a  Negroid  corrup 
tion  in  this  solemn  hour  of  the  world?  " 

"No  !     No  !  "  screamed  a  thousand  voices. 

"What  is  our  condition  to-day  in  the  dawn  of  the 
twentieth  century?  If  we  attempt  to  move  forward 
we  are  literally  chained  to  the  body  of  a  festering  Black 
Death ! 

"Fifty  of  our  great  counties  are  again  under  the  heel 
of  the  Negro,  and  the  state  is  in  his  clutches.  Our  city 
governments  are  debauched  by  his  vote.  His  insolence 
threatens  our  womanhood,  and  our  children  are  beaten 
by  Negro  toughs  on  the  way  to  school,  while  we  pay 
Hs  taxes.  Shall  we  longer  tolerate  Negro  inspectors 
of  white  schools  and  Negroes  in  charge  of  white  insti 
tutions?  Shall  we  longer  tolerate  the  arrest  of  white 
women  by  Negro  officers  and  their  trial  before  Negro 
magistrates  ? 

"Let  the  manhood  of  the  Aryan  race,  with  its  four 
thousand  years  of  authentic  history,  answer  that 
question !  " 

With  blazing  eyes,  and  voice  that  rang  with  the  deep 
peal  of  defiant  power,  Gaston  hurled  that  sentence 
like  a  thunderbolt  into  the  souls  of  his  thousand  hear 
ers.  The  surging  host  sprang  to  their  feet  and  shouted 
back  an  answer  that  made  the  earth  tremble. 

Lifting  his  hand  for  silence  he  continued: 

"It  is  no  longer  a  question  of  bad  government.  It 
is  a  question  of  impossible  government.  We  lag  behind 


A  Speech  that  Made  History          441 

die  age,  dragging  the  decaying  corpse  to  which  we  are 
chained. 

"Who  shall  deliver  us  from  the  body  of  this  death? 

"Hear  me,  men  of  my  race,  Norman  and  Celt,  Angle 
and  Saxon,  Dane  and  Frank,  Huguenot  and  German 
martyr  blood ! 

"The  hour  has  struck  when  we  must  rise  in  our 
might,  break  the  chains  that  bind  us  to  this  corruption, 
Strike  down  the  Negro  as  a  ruling  power,  and  restore  to 
our  children  their  birthright,  which  we  received,  a  price 
less  legacy,  from  our  fathers. 

"I  believe  in  God's  call  to  our  race  to  do  His  work 
in  history.  What  other  races  failed  to  do,  you  wrought 
in  this  continental  wilderness,  fighting  pestilence, 
hunger,  cold,  wild  beasts  and  savage  hordes,  until 
out  of  it  all  has  grown  the  mightiest  nation  of  the  earth. 

"Is  the  Negro  worthy  to  rule  over  you? 

"Ask  history.  The  African  has  held  one-fourth  of 
this  globe  for  3,000  years.  He  has  never  taken  one  step 
in  progress  or  rescued  one  jungle  from  the  ape  and  the 
adder,  except  as  the  slave  of  a  superior  race. 

"  In  Hayti  and  San  Domingo  he  rose  in  servile  insur 
rection  and  butchered  fifty  thousand  white  men,  women 
and  children  a  hundred  years  ago.  He  has  ruled  these 
beautiful  islands  since.  Did  he  make  progress  with  the 
example  of  Aryan  civilisation  before  him?  No.  But 
yesterday  we  received  reports  of  the  discovery  of 
cannibalism  in  Hayti. 

"  He  has  had  one  hundred  years  of  trial  in  the  north 
ern  states  of  this  Union  with  every  facility  of  culture 
and  progress,  and  he  has  not  produced  one  man  who 
has  added  a  feather's  weight  to  the  progress  of  humanity. 
In  an  hour  of  madness  the  dominion  of  the  ten  great 
states  of  the  South  was  given  him  without  a  struggle, 
A  saturnalia  of  infamy  followed. 


442  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"Shall  we  return  to  this?  You  must  answer.  The 
corruption  of  his  presence  in  our  body  politic  is  beyond 
the  power  of  reckoning.  We  drove  the  Carpet-bagger 
from  our  midst,  but  the  Scalawag,  our  native  product, 
is  always  with  us  to  fatten  on  the  corruption  and  breed 
death  to  society.  The  Carpet-bagger  was  a  wolf,  the 
Scalawag  is  a  hyena.  The  one  was  a  highwayman, 
the  other  a  sneak. 

"So  long  as  the  Negro  is  a  factor  in  our  political 
life  will  violence  and  corruption  stain  our  history. 
We  cannot  afford  longer  to  play  with  violence.  We 
must  remove  the  cause. 

"Suffrage  in  America  has  touched  the  lowest  tide- 
mud  of  degradation.  If  our  cities  and  our  Southern 
civilisation  are  to  be  preserved,  there  must  be  a  return 
to  the  sanity  of  the  founders  of  this  republic. 

"A  government  of  the  wealth,  virtue  and  intelligence 
of  the  community  by  the  debased  and  the  criminal  is 
a  relapse  to  elemental  barbarism  to  which  no  race  of 
freemen  can  submit. 

"Shall  the  future  North  Carolinian  be  an  Anglo- 
Saxon  or  a  Mulatto  ?  That  is  the  question  before  you. 

"Nations  are  made  by  men,  not  by  paper  constitu 
tions  and  paper  ballots.  We  are  not  free  because  we 
have  a  Constitution.  We  have  a  Constitution  because 
our  pioneer  fathers,  who  cleared  the  wilderness  and  dared 
the  might  of  kings,  were  freemen.  It  was  in  their 
blood,  the  tutelage  of  generation  on  generation  beyond 
the  seas,  the  evolution  of  centuries  of  struggle  and 
sacrifice. 

"If  you  can  make  men  out  of  paper,  then  it  is  pos 
sible  with  a  scratch  of  a  pen  in  the  hand  of  a  madman 
to  transform  by  magic  a  million  slaves  into  a  million 
.kings. 

"We  grant  the  Negro  the  right  to  life,  liberty  and  the 


A  Speech  that  Made  History          443 

pursuit  of  happiness  if  he  can  be  happy  without  exer 
cising  kingship  over  the  Anglo-Saxon  race  or  dragging 
us  down  to  his  level.  But  if  he  cannot  find  happiness 
except  in  lording  it  over  a  superior  race,  let  him  look 
for  another  world  in  which  to  rule.  There  is  not  room 
for  both  of  us  on  this  continent." 

Again  and  again  Gaston  raised  his  hand  to  still  the 
mad  tumult  of  applause  his  words  evoked. 

"And  we  will  fight  it  out  on  this  line,  if  it  takes 
a  hundred  years,  two  hundred,  five  hundred,  or  a  thou 
sand.  It  took  Spain  eight  hundred  years  to  expel  the 
Moors.  When  the  time  comes  the  Anglo-Saxon  can  do 
in  one  century  what  the  Spaniard  did  in  eight. 

"We  have  been  congratulated  on  our  self-restraint 
under  the  awful  provocation  of  the  past  four  years. 
There  is  a  limit  beyond  which  we  dare  not  go,  for  at 
this  point  self-restraint  becomes  pusillanimous  and 
means  the  loss  of  manhood." 

He  then  reviewed  with  thrilling  power  the  history  of 
the  state  and  the  proud  part  played  in  the  development 
of  the  republic.  He  showed  how  this  border  wilder 
ness  .  of  North  Carolina  became  the  cradle  of  American 
Democracy  and  the  typical  commonwealth  of  freemen. 

He  played  with  the  heart-strings  of  his  hearers  in 
this  close  personal  history  as  a  great  master  touches  the 
strings  of  a  harp.  His  voice  was  now  low  and  quiver-' 
ing  with  the  music  of  passion,  and  then  soft  and  caress 
ing.  He  would  swing  them  from  laughter  to  tears  in 
a  single  sentence,  and  in  the  next  the  lightning  flash 
of  a  fierce  invective  drove  into  their  hearts  its  keen 
blade  so  suddenly  the  vast  crowd  started  as  one  man 
and  winced  at  its  power. 

Through  it  all  he  was  conscious  of  two  blue  eyes 
swimming  in  tears  looking  down  on  him  from  the 
gallery. 


444  The  Leopard's  Spots 

The  crowd  now  had  grown  so  entranced,  and  the 
torrent  of  his  speech  so  rapid,  they  forgot  to  cheer 
and  feared  to  cheer  lest  they  should  lose  a  word  of  the 
next  sentence.  They  hung  breathless  on  every  flash 
of  feeling  from  his  face  or  eloquent  gesture. 

"I  am  not  talking  of  a  vague  theory  of  constructive 
dominion,"  he  continued,  "when  I  refer  to  the  Negro 
supremacy  under  which  our  civilisation  is  being 
degraded.  I  use  words  in  their  plain  meaning. 
Negro  supremacy  means  the  rule  of  a  party  in 
which  negroes  predominate,  and  that  means  a  Negro 
oligarchy. 

"I  call  your  attention  to  one  typical  county  of  more 
than  forty  thus  degraded,  the  county  of  Craven,  whose 
quaint  old  city  was  once  the  capital  of  this  common 
wealth.  What  are  the  facts  ?  The  Negro  office-holders 
of  Craven  County  include  a  Congressman,  a  member  of 
the  Legislature,  a  Register  of  Deeds,  the  City  Attorney, 
the  Coroner,  two  Deputy  Sheriffs,  two  County  Commis 
sioners,  a  member  of  the  School  Board,  three  Road  Over 
seers,  four  Constables,  twenty-seven  Magistrates,  three 
City  Aldermen  and  four  policemen.  There  are  sixty-two 
Negro  officials  in  this  county  of  12,000  inhabitants,  and 
their  member  of  the  Legislature  is  a  convicted  felon.  The 
white  people  represent  ninety-five  per  cent,  of  the  wealth 
and  intelligence  of  the  community  and  pay  ninety- 
five  per  cent,  of  its  taxes,  and  are  voiceless  in  its 
government. 

"Would  a  county  in  Massachusetts  submit  to  such 
infamy?  No.  There  is  not  a  county  in  the  North 
from  Maine  to  California  that  would  submit  to  it  twenty- 
four  hours.  Will  the  children  of  Lexington,  Concord 
and  Bunker  Hill  demand  such  submission  from  the 
children  of  Washington  and  Jefferson  ?  No.  The  pas 
sions  that  obscured  reason  have  subsided.  The  Anglo- 


A  Speech  that  Made  History          445 

Saxon  race  is  united  and  has  entered  upon  its  world 
mission. 

"We  will  take  from  an  unprofitable  servant  the  ballot 
he  has  abused.  To  him  that  hath  shall  be  given,  and 
from  him  that  hath  not  shall  be  taken  away  even  that 
which  he  hath.  It  is  the  law  of  nature.  It  is  the  law 
of  God. 

"Yes,  I  confess  it,"  he  continued;  "I  am  in  a  sense 
narrow  and  provincial.  I  love  mine  own  people. 
Their  past  is  mine,  their  present  mine;  their  future  is 
a  divine  trust.  I  hate  the  dish-water  of  modern  world 
citizenship. 

"A  shallow  cosmopolitanism  is  the  mask  of  death 
for  the  individual.  It  is  the  froth  of  civilisation,  as 
crime  is  its  dregs.  Race  and  race  pride  are  the  ordi 
nances  of  life.  The  true  citizen  of  the  world  loves  his 
country.  His  country  is  a  part  of  God's  world. 

"So  I  confess  I  love  my  people.  I  love  the  South — 
the  stolid,  silent  South,  that  for  a  generation  has  sneered 
at  paper-made  politics  and  scorned  public  opinion. 
The  South,  old-fashioned,  medieval,  provincial,  wor 
shipping  the  dead,  and  raising  men  rather  than  making 
money,  family-loving,  home-building,  tradition-ridden. 
The  South,  cruel  and  cunning  when  fighting  a  treach 
erous  foe,  with  brief,  volcanic  bursts  of  wrath  and 
vengeance.  The  South,  eloquent,  bombastic,  romantic, 
chivalrous,  lustful,  proud,  kind  and  hospitable.  The 
South,  with  her  beautiful  women  and  brave  men.  The 
South,  generous  and  reckless,  never  knowing  her  own 
interest,  but  living  her  own  life  in  her  own  way — yes, 
I  love  her !  In  my  soul  are  all  her  sins  and  virtues. 
And  T.-Lh.  it  all  she  is  worthy  to  live. 

"The  historian  tells  us  that  all  things  pass  in  time. 
Wolves  whelp  and  stable  in  the  palaces  of  dead  kings 
and  forgotten  civilisation.  Memphis,  Thebes  and  Baby- 


446  The  Leopard's  Spots 

Ion  are  but  names  to-day.  So  New  Orleans  and  New 
York  may  perish.  African  antiquarians  may  explore 
their  ruins  and  speculate  upon  their  life;  but  we  may 
safely  fix  upon  a  thousand  centuries  of  intervening 
time.  On  your  shoulders  now  rests  the  burden  of  civili 
sation.  We  must  face  its  responsibilities.  For  my 
part  I  believe  in  your  future. 

"The  courage  of  the  Celt,  the  nobility  of  the  Nor 
man,  the  vigour  of  the  Viking,  the  energy  of  the  Angle, 
the  tenacity  of  the  Saxon,  the  daring  of  the  Dane, 
the  gallantry  of  the  Gaul,  the  freedom  of  the  Frank, 
the  earth-hunger  of  the  Roman  and  the  stoicism  of  the 
Spartan,  are  aH  yours  by  the  lineal  heritage  of  blood, 
from  sire  and  dame,  through  hundreds  of  generations 
and  through  centuries  of  culture. 

"Will  you  halt  now  and  surrender  to  a  mob  of  ragged 
Negroes  led  by  white  cowards  who  at  the  first  clash  of 
conflict  will  hide  in  sewers  ? 

"I  ask  you,  my  people,  freemen,  North  Carolinians, 
to  rise  to-day  and  make  good  your  right  to  live !  The 
time  for  platitudes  is  past.  Let  us  as  men  face  the 
world  and  say  what  we  mean. 

"This  is  a  white  man's  government,  conceived  by 
white  men,  and  maintained  by  white  men  through 
every  year  of  its  history — and  by  the  God  of  our  fathers 
it  shall  be  ruled  by  white  men  until  the  archangel  shall 
call  the  end  of  time  ! 

"If  this  be  treason,  let  them  that  hear  it  make  the 
most  of  it. 

' '  From  the  eighth  day  of  November  we  will  not  submit 
to  Negro  dominion  another  day,  another  hour,  another 
moment.  Back  of  every  ballot  is  a  bayonet,  ui.J  the 
red  blood  of  the  man  who  holds  it.  Let  cowards  hear 
and  remember  this.  Man  has  never  yet  voted  away 
his  right  to  a  revolution, 


A  Speech  that  Made  History          447 

"Citizen  kings,  I  call  you  to  the  consciousness  of 
your  kingship." 

Gaston  closed  and  turned  toward  his  seat,  while  the 
crowd  hung  breathless,  waiting  for  his  next  word. 
When  they  realised  that  he  had  finished,  a  rumble  like 
the  crash  in  midheaven  of  two  storms  rolled  over  the 
surging  sea  of  men,  and  broke  against  the  girders  of  the 
roof  like  the  thunder  of  the  Hatteras  surf  lashed  by  a 
hurricane.  Two  thousand  men  went  mad.  With  one 
common  impulse  they  sprang  to  their  feet,  screaming, 
shouting,  cheering,  shaking  each  others'  hands,  crying 
and  laughing.  With  the  sullen  roar  of  crashing  thunder 
another  whirlwind  of  cheers  swept  the  crowd,  shook 
the  earth,  and  pierced  the  sky  with  its  challenge.  Wave 
after  wave  of  applause  swept  the  building  and  flung 
their  rumbling  echoes  among  the  stars.  These  patient, 
kindly  people,  slow  to  anger,  now  terrible  in  wrath,  were 
trembling  with  the  pent-up  passion  and  fury  of  years. 

What  power  could  resist  their  wrath  ! 

Through  it  all  Gaston  sat  silent  behind  the  group  of 
the  majority  of  the  platform  committee,  with  eyes 
devouring  a  beautiful  face  bending  toward  him  from 
the  gallery.  She  was  softly  weeping  with  love  and  pride 
too  deep  for  words. 

While  the  tumult  was  still  raging,  before  he  was  con 
scious  of  his  presence,  General  Worth's  stalwart  figure 
was  bending  over  him  and  grasping  his  hand. 

"My  boy,  I  give  it  up.  You  have  beaten  me.  I'm 
proud  of  you.  I  forgive  everything  for  that  speech. 
You  can  have  my  girl.  The  date  you've  fixed  for  the 
marriage  suits  me.  Let  us  forget  the  past." 

Gaston  pressed  his  hand,  muttering  brokenly  his 
thanks,  and  his  soul  sank  within  him  at  the  thought 
of  this  proud  old  iron-willed  warrior's  anger  if  he 
discovered  their  secret  marriage. 


448  The  Leopard's  Spots 

The  General  turned  toward  the  side  of  the  platform; 
for  he  had  seen  the  flash  of  Sallie's  dress  on  the  stairs 
of  the  balcony  leading  to  the  stage.  He  knew  her  keen  " 
eye  had  seen  his  surrender,  and  his  heart  was  hungry 
for  the  kiss  of  reconciliation  that  would  restore  their 
old,  perfect  love. 

He  met  her  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  she  threw 
her  arms  impulsively  around  his  neck. 

"Oh,  Papa,  dear!  I  am  the  happiest  girl  in  the 
world.  The  two  men  of  all  men — the  only  two  I  love — 
are  mine  forever  !  ' ' 

While  the  applause  was  still  echoing  and  reechoing 
over  the  sea  of  surging  men,  and  thousands  of  excited 
people  were  crowding  the  windows  from  the  outside 
and  blocking  the  streets  in  every  direction  clamouring 
for  admittance,  a  tall  man  with  gray  beard  and  sten 
torian  voice  sprang  on  the  platform.  It  was  General 
Worth's  candidate  for  Governor.  He  had  not  consulted 
the  General,  but  he  had  a  motion  to  make.  The  crowd 
was  stilled  and  his  voice  rang  through  the  building: 

"Gentlemen,  I  move  that  the  minority  report  offered 
by  Charles  Gaston" — again  a  thunder-peal  of  applause 
— "be  adopted  as  the  platform  by  acclamation  !  " 

A  storm  of  "ayes"  burst  from  the  throats  of  the 
delegates  in  a  single  breath  like  the  crash  of  an 
explosion  of  dynamite. 

"And  now  that  our  eyes  have  seen  the  glory  of  the 
Lord,  as  we  heard  His  messenger  anointed  to  lead 
His  people,  I  move  that  this  convention  nominate  by 
acclamation  for  Governor — Charles  Gaston*!" 

Again  two  thousand  men  were  on  their  feet  shouting, 
cheering,  shaking  hands,  hugging  one  another  and 
weeping  and  yelling  like  maniacs. 

A  speech  had  been  made  that  changed  the  current  of 
history  and  fixed  the  status  of  life  for  millions  of  people. 


CHAPTER  XIV 


AS  soon  as  Gaston  could  leave  the  throngs  of  friends 
who  were  congratulating  him  on  his  remarkable 
speech  and  his  certainty  of  election  he  hastened 
to  find  Sallie. 

"My  lover,  my  king!"  she  cried  impulsively,  as  he 
clasped  her  in  his  arms. 

"Your  eyes  kindled  the  fire  in  my  soul  and  gave  me 
the  power  to  mould  that  crowd  to  my  will,"  he  softly 
told  her. 

"It  is  sweet  to  hear  you  say  that." 

"Now,  my  love,  we  are  in  an  awful  situation.  What 
are  we  to  do  with  the  General  storming  around  pre 
paring  for  a  grand  wedding?  What  if  that  jailer  gives 
out  the  news  ?  McLeod  can  get  it  out  of  him  if  he  ever 
suspects  anything." 

" Don't  worry,  dear.  I'll  manage  everything.  We've 
fixed  the  wedding  on  the  Inauguration  day — so  you 
can't  be  defeated.  We  will  be  busy  day  and  night 
getting  ready  my  trousseau  and  issuing  our  invitations. 
Papa  will  never  dream  that  one  ceremony  has  been 
performed  already.  He  need  never  know  it  until  we 
are  ready  to  tell  him." 

"If  he  discovers  it  he  will  swear  I  have  tried  to 
humiliate  him,  and  he  will  never  forgive  it.  Telegraph 
me  if  anything  happens  and  I  will  come  immediately. 
I  can't  see  you  for  weeks  in  the  campaign,  but  I  will 
write  to  you  every  day." 

449 


450  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"His  Excellency,  the  Governor  of  North  Carolina!" 
she  softly  exclaimed,  with  a  dreamy  look  into  his  face. 
"My  lover!" 

"Don't  make  me  vain.  I  may  be  the  Governor,  but 
I  shall  always  be  the  slave  of  a  beautiful  woman  who 
came  one  day  to  a  jail  and  made  it  a  palace  with  the 
glory  of  her  love." 

"I'm  glad  I  didn't  wait  for  your  success." 

The  campaign  which  followed  was  the  most  remark 
able  ever  conducted  in  the  history  of  an  American 
commonwealth.  In  the  dawn  of  the  twentieth  century 
a  resistless  movement  was  inaugurated  to  destroy  the 
party  in  control  of  a  state,  and  affiliated  with  the  most 
powerful  national  administration  since  Andrew 
Jackson's,  on  the  open  declaration  of  their  intention 
to  nullify  the  Fourteenth  and  Fifteenth  Amendments  to 
the  Constitution  of  the  Republic. 

There  was  no  violence  except  the  calm  demonstration 
in  open  daylight  of  omnipotent  racial  power  and  the 
defiance  of  any  foe  to  lift  a  hand  in  protest. 

When  Gaston  spoke  at  Independence  five  thousand 
white  men  dressed  in  scarlet  shirts  rode  silently  through 
the  streets  in  solemn  parade,  and  six  thousand  Negroes 
watched  them  with  fear.  There  was  no  cheering  or 
demonstration  of  any  kind.  The  silence  of  the  proces 
sion  gave  it  the  import  of  a  religious  rite.  A  thousand 
picked  men  were  in  line  from  Hambright  and  Campbell 
County,  and  they  formed  the  guard  of  honour  for  their 
candidate  for  Gorernor. 

Like  scenes  were  enacted  everywhere.  Again  the 
Anglo-Saxon  race  was  fused  into  a  solid  mass.  The 
result  was  a  foregone  conclusion. 


CHAPTER  XV 
THE  HIGHER  LAW 

McLEOD  knew  from  the  day  of  that  outburst 
which  followed  Gaston's  speech  in  the  Demo 
cratic  convention  that  no  power  on  earth 
could  save  his  ticket.  To  the  world  he  put  on  a  bold 
face  and  made  his  fight  to  the  last  ditch,  predicting 
victory. 

His  secret  anger  against  the  Preacher  and  Gaston,  his 
pet,  knew  no  bounds.  Chagrined  at  his  repulse  by 
Mrs.  Durham  and  the  attitude  of  contempt  she  had 
maintained  toward  him,  his  tongue  began  to  wag  her 
name  in  slander  to  the  crowd  of  young  satellites  loafing 
around  his  office  in  Hambright. 

"Yes,  boys,"  he  said,  "the  Preacher  is  a  great  man, 
but  his  wife  is  greater.  She's  the  handsomest  woman 
in  the  state  in  spite  of  a  gray  thread  or  two  in  her  rich, 
chestnut  hair.  She  has  the  most  beautiful  mouth  that 
ever  tempted  the  soul  of  a  man — and,  boys,  my  lips 
know  what  it  means  to  touch  it." 

And  when  they  stared  with  open  eyes  at  this  state 
ment,  McLeod  shook  his  head,  laughed  and  whispered: 

"Say  nothing  about  it — but  facts  are  facts." 

McLeod  chuckled  over  the  certainty  of  the  shame  and 
suffering  that  would  wring  the  Preacher's  heart  when 
dirty  gossips  of  a  village  had  magnified  these  words  into 
a  complete  drama  of  scandal.  For  all  preachers  McLeod 
had  profound  contempt,  and  he  felt  secure  now  from 
personal  harm. 

The  day  the  Preacher  first  heard  of  these  rumours  was 

451 


452  The  Leopard's  Spots 

the  occasion  of  Gaston's  campaign  address  under  the 
old  oak  in  the  square.  He  had  looked  forward  to  this 
day  with  boyish  pride  mingled  with  a  great  fatherly 
love.  It  would  be  his  triumph.  He  had  stirred  this 
boy's  imagination  and  moulded  his  character  in  the 
pliant  hours  of  his  childhood.  He  had  told  himself 
that  day  he  spent  with  him  in  the  woods  fishing  that 
he  had  kindled  a  fire  in  his  soul  that  would  not  go  out 
till  it  blazed  on  the  altar  of  a  redeemed  country.  And 
he  was  living  to  see  that  day. 

The  streets  and  square  were  thronged  with  such  a 
multitude  as  the  village  had  never  seen  since  it  was 
built.  But  the  Preacher  was  not  among  them  at  the 
hour  the  speaking  began. 

A  simple  old  friend  from  the  country  asked  him  about 
these  rumours.  He  turned  pale  as  death,  made  no 
answer,  and  walked  rapidly  toward  his  study  in  the 
church  where  his  library  was  now  arranged.  He  was 
dazed  with  horror.  It  was  the  first  he  had  heard  of 
it.  One  thing  in  his  estimate  of  life  had  always  been 
as  securely  fixed  and  sheltered  in  his  thought  as  his 
faith  in  God,  and  that  was  his  love  for  his  wife  and  his 
perfect  faith  in  her  honour. 

He  closed  his  door  and  locked  it  and  sat  down,  trying 
to  think. 

Had  he  not  grown  careless  in  the  certainty  of  his 
wife's  devotion  and  his  own  quiet  but  intense  love? 
Had  he  not  forgotten  the  yearning  of  a  woman's  heart 
for  the  eternal  repetition  of  love's  language  of  sign  and 
word? 

The  tears  were  in  his  eyes  now,  and  he  felt  that  his 
heart  would  beat  to  death  and  break  within  him  ! 

He  saw  that  his  enemy  had  struck  at  his  weakest  spot, 
and  struck  to  kill. 

He  lifted  his  face  toward  the  walls  in  a  vague,  unseeing 


The  Higher  Law  453 

look  and  his  eyes  rested  on  a  pair  of  crossed  swords 
over  a  bookcase.  They  had  been  handed  down  to  him 
from  a  long  line  of  fighting  ancestors.  He  arose,  took 
them  down  mechanically,  and  drew  one  from  its 
scabbard.  How  snugly  its  rough  hilt  fitted  his  nervous 
hand-grip  !  He  felt  a  curious  throbbing  in  this  hilt  like 
a  pulse.  It  was  alive,  and  its  spirit  stirred  deep  waters 
in  his  soul  that  had  never  been  ruffled  before. 

He  recalled  vaguely  in  memory  things  he  knew 
had  never  happened  to  him  and  yet  were  part  of  his 
inmost  life. 

"Damn  him!"  he  involuntarily  hissed,  as  he  gripped 
the  sword  hilt  with  the  instinctive  power  of  the  fighting 
animal  that  sleeps  beneath  the  skin  of  all  our  culture 
and  religion. 

And  then  his  eyes  rested  on  a  quaint  little  daguerreo 
type  picture  of  his  wife  in  her  bridal  dress,  her  sweet 
girlish  face  full  of  innocent  pride  and  warm  with  his 
love.  By  its  side  he  saw  the  portrait  of  their  dead  boy. 
How  he  recalled  now  every  hour  of  that  wonderful 
period  preceding  his  birth — the  unspeakable  pride  and 
tenderness  with  which  he  watched  over  his  young  wife ! 
He  recalled  the  morning  of  his  birth,  and  the  heart 
rending,  piteous  cries  of  ycung  motherhood  that  tore 
his  heart  until  the  nails  of  his  own  fingers  cut  the  flesh 
and  drew  the  blood.  How  the  minutes  seemed  long 
hours,  and  how  at  last  he  bent  over  her,  softly  kissed  the 
drawn  white  lips,  and  gazed  with  tearful  wonder  and 
awe  on  the  little  red  bundle  resting  on  her  breast !  He 
recalled  the  tremor  of  weariness  in  her  voice  when  she 
drew  his  head  down  close  and  whispered: 

"I  didn't  mind  the  pain,  John,  though  I  couldn't  help 
the  cries.  He's  yours  and  mine — I  am  as  proud  as  a 
queen.  Now  our  souls  are  one  in  him — I  am  tired — I 
must  sleep." 


454  The  Leopard's  Spots 

Every  movement  of  his  past  life  seemed  to  stand  out 
in  this  crisis  with  fiery  clearness.  He  seemed  to  live 
in  an  instant  whole  years  in  every  detail  of  that  closeness 
of  personal  life  that  makes  marriage  a  part  of  every 
stroke  of  the  heart. 

At  last  he  set  his  lips  firmly  and  said: 

"Yes,  damn  him,  I  will  kill  him  as  I  would  a  snake !" 

He  sat  down  arid  wrote  his  resignation  as  pastor  of 
the  church,  left  it  on  his  desk,  and  strode  hurriedly 
from  the  study,  leaving  his  door  open.  He  purchased 
a  revolver  and  a  box  of  cartridges  and  walked  straight 
to  McLeod's  office. 

The  speaking  was  over,  and  McLeod  was  alone, 
writing  letters.  He  looked  up  with  scant  politeness  as 
the  Preacher  entered,  and  motioned  him  to  a  seat. 

Instead  of  seating  himself,  he  closed  the  door  and, 
standing  erect  in  front  of  it,  said: 

"Allan  McLeod,  you  are  the  author  of  an  infamous 
slander  reflecting  on  the  honour  of  my  wife." 

"Indeed!"   McLeod  sneered,  wheeling  in  his  chair. 

"I  always  knew  that  you  were  a  moral  leper " 

"Of  course,  Doctor,  of  course,  but  don't  get  excited," 
laughed  McLeod,  enjoying  the  marks  of  anguish  on  his 
face. 

"But  that  your  lecherous  body  should  dream  of 
invading  the  sanctity  of  my  home,  and  your  tongue 
attempt  to  smirch  its  honour,  was  beyond  my  wildest 
dream  of  your  effrontery.  How  dare  you? " 

"Dare?  Dare,  Preacher?"  interrupted  McLeod,  still 
sneering.  "Why,  by  'The  Higher  Law,'  of  course. 
You  have  been  teaching  all  your  life  that  there  are  higher 
laws  than  paper-made  statutes.  You  have  trained  this 
county  in  crime  under  this  beautiful  ideal.  Surely  I 
may  follow  the  teachings  of  a  master  in  Israel?" 

"What  do  you  mean,  you  red-headed  devil?" 


The  Higher  Law  455 

41  Softly,  Preacher,"  smiled  McLeod.  "Simply  this. 
You  expound  'The  Higher  Law'  for  political  consump 
tion.  I  apply  it  to  all  life. 

"There  are  but  two  real  laws  of  man's  nature — hunger 
and  love.  All  others  change  with  time  and  progress. 
These  are  the  higher  laws — in  fact,  they  are  the  highest 
laws.  The  stupid  conventions  that  superstition  has 
built  around  them  may  hold  back  the  weak,  but  the 
powerful  have  always  defied  them.  Your  brilliant 
exposition  of  the  higher  law  in  politics  first  set  my  mind 
to  work  and  led  me  to  a  complete  emancipation  from 
the  slavery  of  conventionalism  in  which  fools  have  held 
society  for  centuries.  There  are  conventional  laws  and 
superstitions  about  the  little  ceremony  called  marriage 
cherished  by  the  weak-minded.  There  is  a  higher  law 
of  nature.  The  brave  live  this  life  of  daring  freedom, 
while  cowards  cling  to  forms.  Do  I  make  myself 
clear?" 

"Perfectly  so,  you  mottled  leper.  You  think  that 
because  I  am  a  preacher  I  am  a  poltoon,  and  that  you 
can  play  with  me  without  danger  to  your  skin.  Well, 
I  was  a  man  before  I  was  a  preacher.  There  are  some 
things  deeper  than  the  forms  of  religion,  if  you  wish  to 
push  the  higher  law  to  its  last  application.  You  have 
found  that  quick  in  my  soul,  mine  enemy !  I  have 
resigned  my  church — to  kill  you.  There  is  not  room 
for  you  and  me  on  this  earth " 

McLeod  sprang  to  his  feet,  his  soul  chilled  by  the  tone 
in  which  the  threat  was  uttered.  He  started  to  call  for 
help,  and  looked  down  the  gleaming  barrel  of  a  revolver. 

"Move  now  or  open  your  mouth  and  I  kill  you 
instantly.  Sit  down.  I  give  you  five  minutes  to  write 
your  last  message  to  this  world." 

McLeod  sank  into  his  seat  trembling  like  a  leaf,  with 
the  perspiration  standing  out  on  his  forehead  in  cold 


456  The  Leopard's  Spots 

"beads.     Now  and  then  he  glanced  furtively  at  the  stern 
face  of  blind  fury  towering  over  his  crouching  form. 

Unable  to  endure  the  terrible  strain,  he  sank  to  the 
floor  whining,  slobbering,  begging  in  abject  cowardice 
for  his  life.  He  crawled  toward  the  Preacher,  reached 
out  his  hand  and  touched  his  foot. 

"My  God,  Doctor,  you  are  mad  !  You  will  not  commit 
murder.  You  are  a  minister  of  Jesus  Christ.  Have 
mercy.  I  am  at  your  feet.  Your  wife  is  as  pure  as  an 
angel.  I  only  said  what  I  did  to  torture  you " 

"Get  up,  you  snake!"  hissed  the  Preacher,  stamping 
his  body  with  all  his  might  until  McLeod  screamed  with 
pain  and  scrambled  to  his  feet  cowering  and  whining 
like  a  cur. 

"Finish  your  letter.  You  will  never  leave  this  room 
alive." 

A  long,  pitiful  sob  broke  the  stillness,  and  McLeod 
was  looking  into  the  Preacher's  face  in  vain  for  a  ray 
of  hope. 

Suddenly  Gaston  burst  into  the  room,  trembling  with 
excitement.  "My  God,  Doctor,  what  does  this  mean?" 
he  cried,  seizing  the  revolver. 

<  McLeod  sprang  toward  Gaston,  groaning  and  crawling 
toward  his  feet.  "Save  me,  Gaston !  The  Doctor's  gone 
mad  !  He  is  about  to  kill  me  ! " 

*; Charlie,  I  must!"  pleaded  the  Preacher. 

"No,  no;  this  is  madness.  I  thank  God  I  am  in  time. 
I  missed  you  at  the  speaking,  and,  hearing  a  rumour  of 
this  slander,  I  hurried  to  find  you.  I  saw  your  study 
open  and  read  your  letter.  I  knew  I'd  find  you  here. 
I'll  manage  McLeod." 

The  Preacher  sat  down  crying.  McLeod  had  crawled 
back  to  his  desk  and  was  mopping  his  face.  Gaston 
walked  over  to  him  and  said  with  slow,  trembling 
emphasis : 


The  Higher  Law  457 

"I  give  you  twelve  hours  to  close  this  office,  wind  up 
your  business,  and  leave.  In  the  meantime,  you  will 
write  a  denial  of  this  slander  satisfactory  to  me  for 
publication.  If  you  ever  open  your  mouth  again  about 
my  foster  mother,  or  put  your  foot  in  this  county,  I 
will  kill  you.  I  expect  your  letter  ready  in  two 
hours." 

Gaston  took  the  Preacher  by  the  arm  and  led  him 
down  the  stairs  and  back  to  his  study.  In  the  reaction, 
there  was  a  pitiable  breakdown. 

"Oh!  Charlie,  you've  saved  me  from  an  unspeakable 
horror.  Yes,  I  was  mad.  I  was  proud  and  wilful.  I 
thought  I  knew  myself.  To-day  I  have  looked  into  the 
bottom  of  hell.  I  have  seen  the  depths  of  my  own  heart. 
Yes,  I  have  in  me  the  germs  of  all  sin  and  crime.  I  am 
the  brother  of  every  thief,  of  every  murderer,  of  every 
scarlet  woman  of  the  streets  that  ever  stood  in  the 
stocks  or  climbed  the  steps  of  a  gallows " 

"Hush,  I  will  not  listen  to  such  talk.  You  are  a  man. 
that's  all,"  interrupted  Gaston. 

"But  God's  mercy  is  great,"  he  went  on.  "I  have 
tried  to  live  for  my  people  and  my  country,  not  for 
myself.  If  I  have  failed  to  be  a  faithful  husband,  this 
is  my  plea  to  God:  I  have  not  thought  of  myself  nor 
of  my  own,  but  of  others." 

After  an  hour  he  was  quiet,  and,  turning  to  Gaston, 
he  said: 

"Charlie,  go  tell  your  mother  to  come  here;  I  want 
to  see  her." 

When  she  came  and  sat  down  beside  him  with  quiet 
dignity,  she  said:  "Now,  Doctor,  say  what  you  wish. 
Charlie  has  told  me  much,  but  not  all.  Let  us  look  into 
each  other's  souls  to-day." 

"I  only  want  to  ask  you,  dear,"  he  said,  tenderly, 
"just  how  far  your  friendship  for  this  villain  may  have 


4$8  The  Leopard's  Spots 

led  you.  I  know  you  are  innocent  of  any  criwe.  T 
only  want  to  know  the  measure  of  my  own  guilt." 

"You  know,  John,"  she  said,  using  his  first  name  as 
she  had  not  for  years,  "he  has  always  interested  me  from 
a  boy,  and  in  the  darkest  hour  of  my  heart's  life,  when  I 
felt  your  love  growing  cold  and  slipping  away  from  me 
and  my  faith  in  all  things  fading,  he  attempted  to  make 
vulgar  love  to  me.  I  repulsed  him  with  scorn,  and  have 
since  treated  him  with  contempt.  You  know  that  I 
kissed  him  once  when  he  was  a  boy.  I  have  told  you 
all.  What  do  you  propose  to  do?" 

"What  will  I  do,  my  darling? "  he  softly  asked,  taking 
her  hand.  "Begin  anew  from  this  moment  to  love  and 
cherish,  honour  and  protect  you  unto  death.  You  are 
my  wife.  I  took  you  a  beautiful  child,  innocent  of  the 
world.  If  you  have  failed  in  the  least,  I  have  failed. 
If  you  have  stumbled  in  the  dark  even  in  your  thought 
I  will  lift  you  in  my  arms  and  soothe  you  as  a  mother 
would  her  babe.  If  you  should  fall  into  the  bottomless 
pit,  into  the  pit  and  down  to  the  lowest  depths  of  hell, 
I  would  go  and  lift  you  in  the  arms  of  my  love.  To 
break  the  tie  that  binds  us  is  unthinkable.  It  has  passed 
into  the  infinite.  Not  only  are  our  souls  one  in  a  little  boy's 
grave,  but  there  is  something  so  absorbing,  so  interwoven 
with  the  hidden  things  of  nature  in  our  union  that  I 
defy  all  the  fiends  in  perdition  to  break  it.  Love  is 
eternal.  And  your  love  for  me  was  the  great  fixed 
thing  in  my  life  like  my  faith  in  the  living  God." 

"Oh,  John,  you  are  breaking  my  heart  now,  when  I 
think  that  I  doubted  your  love !  I  could  have  brooked 
your  anger,  but  this  overwhelms  me!" 

"It  has  always  been  my  character,"  he  gravely  said. 

"Then  I  have  never  known  you  until  now" — and  she 
fell  sobbing  on  his  breast,  the  years  rolled  back,  and 
they  were  in  the  sweet  springtime  of  life  again. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
THE  END  OF  A  MODERN  VILLAIN 

TWO  days  after  McLeod's  flight  from  Hambright 
the  press  despatches  flashed  from  New  York  a 
startling  two-column  account  of  the  attempted 
assassination  of  the  Honourable  Allan  McLeod,  the 
Republican  leader  of  North  Carolina,  in  the  terrific 
campaign  in  progress,  and  that  he  was  compelled  to 
flee  from  the  state  to  save  his  life. 

Gaston  was  elected  Governor  by  the  largest  majority 
ever  given  a  candidate  for  that  office  in  the  history  of 
North  Carolina. 

McLeod  was  promptly  rewarded  for  his  long  career  of 
villainy  by  an  appointment  as  our  Ambassador  to  one 
of  the  Republics  of  South  America,  and  the  Senate  at 
once  confirmed  him.  His  dream  of  a  life  of  ease  and 
luxury  had  come  at  last. 

For  six  months  he  had  been  quietly  going  to  Boston, 
paying  the  most  ardent  court  to  Miss  Susan  Walker, 
whom  he  had  met  at  her  college  at  Independence.  She 
was  a  matured  spinster  now  approaching  sixty  years 
of  age,  and  worth  $5,000,000  in  her  own  name. 

He  had  easy  sailing  from  the  first.  He  joined  her 
church  in  Boston,  after  a  brilliant  profession  of  religion 
that  moved  Miss  Walker  to  tears,  for  he  had  told  her  it 
was  her  love  that  had  opened  his  eyes.  And  it  was 
true. 

McLeod  timed  his  last  visit  to  Boston  so  that  he 
arrived  the  day  the  city  was  ringing  with  the  sensation 

459 


460  The  Leopard's  Spots 

of  his  attempted  assassination  and  the  desperate  fight 
he  was  making  to  uphold  law  and  order  in  the  South. 
When  Miss  Walker  read  that  article  in  her  paper  she 
resolved  to  marry  him  immediately.  She  gave  McLeod 
a  wedding  present  of  a  half-million  dollars.  He  wept 
for  joy  and  gratitude,  and  kissed  her  with  a  fervour  that 
satisfied  her  hungry  heart  that  he  was  the  one  peerless 
Jover  of  the  world. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

WEDDING  BELLS  IN  THE  GOVERNOR'S  MANSION 

TWO  days  after  McLeod  and  his  bride  reached 
Asheville  on  their  wedding  trip,  General  Worth 
received  a  letter  which  threw  him  into  a  par 
oxysm  of  rage.  Sallie's  wedding  had  been  fixed  for 
the  day  of  the  inauguration  of  the  Governor.  The 
invitations  were  out  and  society  in  a  flutter  of  comment 
and  gossip  over  the  romantic  and  brilliant  career  of 
young  Gaston,  and  his  luck  in  winning  power,  love 
and  fortune  in  a  day. 

The  letter  was  from  McLeod,  at  Asheville,  informing 
him  that  his  daughter  was  already  married,  and  that 
Gaston  was  simply  seeking  his  fortune  by  a  subterfuge, 
and  showing  his  power  over  him  by  humiliating  him  at 
the  last  moment  before  the  world.  He  enclosed  a 
transcript  of  the  marriage  record,  signed  by  the  Reverend 
John  Durham,  and  witnessed  by  Mrs.  Durham  and 
Stella  Holt.  This  record  was  certified  before  the  Clerk 
of  the  Court  and  bore  his  seal.  There  was  no  doubt 
of  the  facts. 

When  the  General  handed  this  letter  to  Sallie  she 
flushed,  looked  wistfully  into  his  face,  saw  its  hard 
expression  of  speechless  anger,  turned  pale  and  burst 
into  tears. 

Her  father  without  a  word  went  to  his  room  and 
locked  himself -in  for  twenty-four  hours,  refusing  to  see 
her  or  speak  to  her. 

On  the  following  day  she  forced  her  way  into  his 

461 


462  The  Leopard's  Spots 

presence,  and  they  had  the  last  great  battle  of  wills.  All 
the  iron  power  of  his  unconquered  pride,  accustomed 
for  a  lifetime  to  command  men  and  receive  instant 
obedience,  was  roused  to  the  pitch  of  madness. 

"If  you  marry  him  I  swear  to  you  a  thousand  times 
you  shall  never  cross  my  doorstep  and  you  shall  never 
receive  one  penny  of  my  fortune.  He  is  a  gambler  and 
an  adventurer,  and  seeks  to  make  me  a  laughing-stock 
for  the  world." 

"Papa,  nothing  could  be.  further  from  his  thoughts. 
He  has  always  loved  and  respected  you.  I  assume  all 
the  responsibility  for  our  secret  marriage." 

"Then  sharper  than  a  serpent's  tooth  is  the  ingratitude 
of  a  disobedient  child  !" 

"But,  Papa,  I  waited  five  years  of  patient  suffering 
trying  to  obey  you,"  she  protested. 

"I  had  rather  see  you  dead  than  to  see  you  marry 
that  man  now  and  have  him  sneer  his  triumph  in 
my  face." 

"We  are  already  married.  Why  talk  like  that?"  she 
pleaded,  tearfully. 

"I  deny  it.  I  am  going  to  annul  that  marriage. 
Felony  is  ground  for  the  dissolution  of  the  marriage  tie. 
A  ceremony  performed  under  such  conditions  when  one 
of  the  parties  is  in  prison  charged  with  felony  without 
bail  is  illegal,  and  I'll  show  it.  The  lawyers  will  be  here 
in  an  hour  and  I  will  take  action  to-morrow." 

"Never,  with  my  consent!"  she  firmly  replied.  She 
left  the  room,  consulted  her  mother,  and  hastily  des 
patched  a  telegram  to  Hambright  summoning  Gaston 
to  Independence  immediately. 

When  this  telegram  came  he  was  in  his  office  hard  at 
"work  on  his  inaugural  address,  outlining  the  policy  of 
his  administration.  He  was  in  a  heated  argument  with 
the  Preacher  about  the  article  on  education,  which 


Wedding  Bells  in  the  Governor's  Mansion  463 

followed  his  recommendation  of  the  disfranchisement 
of  the  Negro. 

He  had  advised  large  appropriations  for  the  industrial 
training  of  Negroes  along  the  lines  of  the  new  move 
ment  of  their  more  sober  leaders. 

" It's  a  mistake,"  argued  the  Preacher.  "If  the  Negro 
is  made  master  of  the  industries  of  the  South  he  will 
become  the  master  of  the  South.  Sooner  than  allow  him 
to  take  the  bread  from  their  mouths,  the  white  men  will 
kill  him  here,  as  they  do  North,  when  the  struggle  for 
bread  becomes  as  tragic.  The  Negro  must  ultimately 
leave  this  continent.  You  might  as  well  begin  to 
prepare  for  it." 

"But  we  propose  to  train  him  principally  in  agri 
culture.  We  need  millions  of  good  farmers,"  persisted 
Gaston. 

"So  much  the  worse,  I  tell  you,"  replied  the  Preacher. 
"Make  the  Negro  a  scientific  and  successful  farmer,  and 
let  him  plant  his  feet  deep  in  your  soil,  and  it  will  mean 
a  race  war." 

"It  seems  to  me  impracticable  ever  to  move  him." 

"Why?"  asked  the  Preacher.  "Those  over  certain 
ages  can  be  left  to  end  their  days  here.  The  Negro  has 
cost  us  already  the  loss  of  $7,000,000,000,  a  war  that 
killed  a  half-million  men,  the  debauchery  of  our  suffrage, 
the  corruption  of  our  life,  and  threatens  the  future  with 
anarchy.  Lincoln  was  right  when  he  said: 

' ' '  There  is  a  physical  difference  between  the  white  and 
the  black  races  which,  I  believe,  will  forever  forbid  them 
living  together  on  terms  of  social  and  political  equality.' 

"Even  you  are  still  labouring  under  the  delusions  of 
'Reconstruction.'  The  Ethiopian  cannot  change  his 
skin,  or  the  leopard  his  spots.  Those  who  think  it 
possible  will  always  tell  you  that  the  place  to  work  this 
miracle  is  in  the  South.  Exactly.  If  a  man  really 


464  The  Leopard's  Spots 

believes  in  equality,  let  him  prove  it  by  giving  his 
daughter  to  a  negro  in  marriage.  That  is  the  test. 
When  she  sinks  with  her  mulatto  children  into  the  black 
abyss  of  a  Negroid  life,  then  ask  him !  Your  scheme  of 
education  is  humbug.  You  don't  believe  that  any 
amount  of  education  can  fit  a  Negro  to  rule  an  Anglo- 
Saxon,  or  to  marry  his  daughter.  Then  don't  be  a 
liypocrite." 

"But  can  we  afford  to  stop  his  education?" 

<(The  more  you  educate,  the  more  impossible  you 
make  his  position  in  a  democracy.  Education !  Can 
you  change  the  colour  of  his  skin,  the  kink  of  his  hair, 
the  bulge  of  his  lips,  the  spread  of  his  nose,  or  the  beat 
of  his  heart,  with  a  spelling-book?  The  Negro  is  the 
human  donkey.  You  can  train  him,  but  you  can't 
make  of  him  a  horse.  Mate  him  with  a  horse,  you  lose 
the  horse,  and  get  a  larger  donkey  called  a  mule,  incap 
able  of  preserving  his  species.  What  is  called  our  race 
prejudice  is  simply  God's  first  law  of  nature  —  the 
instinct  of  self-preservation." 

Gaston  was  gazing  at  the  ceiling  with  an  absent  look 
in  his  eyes  and  a  smile  playing  around  his  lips. 

"You  are  not  listening  to  me  now,  you  young  rascal ! 
You  are  dreaming  about  your  bride." 

Gaston  quickly  lowered  his  eyes  and  saw  the  mes 
senger  boy,  who  had  been  standing  several  minutes  with 
his  telegram. 

He  read  Sallie's  message  with  amazement. 

"What  can  that  mean ? "  He  handed  the  telegram  to 
the  Preacher. 

"It  means  he  has  discovered  the  facts  and  there  is 
going  to  be  trouble.  He  is  a  man  of  terrific  passions 
when  his  pride  is  roused." 

"I  must  go  immediately." 

He  closed  his  office  and  caught  his  train  after  a  hard 


Y/edding  Bells  in  the  Governor's  Mansion  465 

drive.  When  he  reached  Independence  he  sprang  into  a 
carriage  and  ordered  the  driver  to  take  him  direct  to 
Oakwood.  What  had  happened  he  did  not  know  and 
he  did  not  care.  Of  one  thing  he  was  now  sure — Sallie's 
love  and  the  swift  end  of  their  separation. 

His  heart  was  singing  with  a  great  joy  as  he  drove 
over  the  familiar  *avenue  through  the  deep  shadows  of 
the  woods  and,  turning  through  the  gate,  saw  the  light 
gleaming  from  the  room. 

"  God  bless  her,  she's  mine  now — I  hope  I  can  take  her 
home  to-night ! "  he  cried. 

She  had  walked  down  the  drive  to  meet  him.  He 
leaped  from  the  carriage,  kissed  her  and  asked: 

"What  is  it,  dear?" 

"McLeod  wrote  him  about  our  marriage,  and  now  he 
swears  he  will  bring  a  suit  to  annul  it.  Leave  your  car 
riage  here  and  come  with  me.  If  he  don't  send  these 
lawyers  away  and  receive  you,  I  will  be  ready  to  go  with 
you  in  an  hour." 

"Queen  of  my  heart!"  he  whispered.  "You  are  all 
mine  at  last." 

She  called  her  father  from  the  library  into  the  parlour 
and  stood  on  the  very  spot  where  Gaston  had  writhed 
in  agony  on  that  night  of  his  interview  with  the  General. 

He  started  at  the  expression  on  her  face  and  the  tense 
vigour  with  which  she  held  herself  erect.  His  suit  had 
not  been  progressing  well  with  his  lawyers.  They  had 
tried  to  humour  him,  but  had  declined  to  express  any 
hope  of  success  in  such  an  action.  He  saw  they  were 
half-hearted  and  it  depressed  him. 

"Now,  Papa,"  she  firmly  said,  "it  will  not  take  us 
ten  minutes  to  decide  forever  the  question  of  our  lives. 
If  you  take  another  step  with  these  lawyers — if  you  do 
not  dismiss  them  at  once,  I  will  leave  this  house  in  an 
hour,  go  with  the  man  of  my  choice  to  his  home,  and  you 


466  The  Leopard's  Spots 

will  never  see  me  again.  You  shall  not  humiliate  me 
nor  him  another  hour." 

The  General  looked  at  her  as  though  stunned;  his 
voice  trembled  as  he  replied: 

"Would  you  leave  me  so  in  an  hour,  dear  ? " 

"Yes;  Charlie  is  waiting  there  on  the  porch  for  me 
now,  and  his  carriage  is  outside.  I  will  not  subject  him 
to  another  insult,  nor  allow  any  one  else  to  do  it." 

The  General  sank  heavily  into  a  chair  and  stretched 
out  his  hands  toward  her  in  a  gesture  of  tender  entreaty. 

"Come,  child  and  kiss  me — you  know  I  can't  live 
without  you !  Forgive  all  the  foolish  things  I've  said 
in  anger  and  pride.  Your  happiness  is  more  to  me 
than  all  else." 

She  was  crying  now  in  his  arms. 

"Go,  bring  Charlie.  The  youngster  has  beaten  me. 
I've  fought  a  foeman  worthy  of  my  steel.  It's  no 
disgrace  to  surrender  to  him." 

In  a  moment  she  led  Gaston  into  the  room,  and  the 
General  grasped  his  hand. 

"Young  man,  for  the  last  time  I  welcome  you  to  this 
house.  Now,  it  is  yours.  You  can  run  this  place  to 
suit  yourself.  I've  worked  all  my  life  for  Sallie.  I  give 
up  the  ship  to  you." 

"General,  let  me  assure  you  of  my  warmest  love.  I 
have  never  said  an  unkind  thing  or  harboured  a  harsh 
thought  toward  you.  I  shall  be  proud  of  you  as  my 
father.  I  have  loved  you  and  Mrs.  Worth  since  the  first 
day  I  looked  into  Sallie's  face." 

The  invitations  stood.  Gaston  returned  immediately 
to  Hambright,  and  on  the  morning  of  the  inauguration, 
accompanied  by  Bob  St.  Clare  and  the  Chief  Justice  of 
the  Supreme  Court,  he  entered  the  grand  old  mansion 
with  its  stately  pillars  and  claimed  his  bride.  The 
Chief  Justice  performed  a  civil  ceremony,  and  the  party 


"Wedding  Bells  in  the  Governor's  Mansion    467 

started  on  a  triumphal  procession  to  the  capital.  The 
General  was  bubbling  over  with  pride  in  the  handsome 
appearance  the  bride  and  groom  made,  and  tried  to 
outdo  himself  in  kindliness  toward  Gaston. 

"Come  to  think  it  over,  Governor,"  he  said  to  him 
after  the  inauguration,  "it  was  a  brave  thing  in  my  little 
girl,  marching  into  that  jail  alone  and  marrying  her  lover 
in  a  prison,  wasn't  it  ?  By  George,  she's  a  chip  off  the 
old  block !  I  don't  care  if  the  world  does  know  it." 

"General,  that  was  the  bravest  thing  a  woman  could 
do.  She  is  the  heroine  of  the  drama.  I  play  second 
part." 

They  did  not  wait  long  for  the  people  to  know  it.  At 
four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  an  extra  appeared  with  a 
startling  account  of  the  fact  that  the  Governor's  beauti 
ful  bride  had  braved  the  world  and  secretly  married 
him  when  his  fortunes  were  at  ebb-tide  and  he  was  a 
prisoner  in  the  Asheville  jail. 

That  night,  when  Sallie  entered  the  banquet  hall  of 
the  Governor's  Mansion,  leaning  proudly  on  Gaston's 
arm,  she  was  greeted  with  an  outburst  of  homage  and 
deep  feeling  she  had  never  dreamed  of  receiving.  When 
the  Governor  acknowledged  the  applause  of  his  name, 
he  bowed  to  his  bride,  not  to  the  crowd. 

The  Preacher  rose  to  respond  to  the  toast,  "The 
Master  and  the  Mistress  of  the  Governor's  Mansion," 
and  seemed  to  pay  no  attention  to  the  Governor,  but, 
turning  to  Sallie,  he  said: 

"To  the  queenly  daughter  of  the  South,  who  had  eyes 
to  see  a  glorious  manhood  behind  prison  bars,  the  nobility 
to  stoop  from  wealth  to  poverty  and  transform  a  jail  into 
a  palace  with  the  beauty  of  her  face  and  the  splendour 
of  her  love — to  her,  the  heroine  who  inspired  Charles 
Gaston  with  power  to  mould  a  million  wills  in  his,  change 
the  current  of  history,  and  become  the  Governor  of  the 


468  The  Leopard's  Spots 

Commonwealth — to  her  all  honour,  and  praise,  and 
homage. 

"My  daughter,  it  is  meet  that  our  wealth  and  beauty 
should  mate  with  the  genius  and  chivalry  of  the  South. 
May  it  ever  be  so,  and  may  your  children's  children  be  as 
the  sands  of  the  sea ! " 

Sallie  bowed  her  head  as  every  eye  was  turned  admir 
ingly  upon  her.  The  General  trembled,  and  when  the 
crowd  rose  to  their  feet  and  reechoed,  "To  her  all  honour 
and  praise  and  homage,"  and  the  Governor  bent  proudly 
kissing  her  hand,  he  bowed  his  head  and  wept. 

Her  mother,  sitting  by  her  side  with  shining  eyes, 
pressed  her  hand  and  whispered : 

"My  beautiful  daughter,  now  my  work  is  done." 

As  Gaston  strolled  out  on  the  lawn  with  his  bride  after 
the  banquet,  they  found  a  seat  in  a  secluded  spot  amid 
the  shrubbery. 

"  My  sweet  wife  ! "  he  exclaimed. 

"My  husband!"  she  whispered,  as  they  tenderly 
clasped  hands. 

"Tell  me  now  who  was  the  author  of  all  those  lies 
about  me  to  your  father  ? " 

"Why  ask  it,  dear?  You  know  Allan  wrote  the  last 
letter." 

"The  dastard.  I  was  sure  of  it  from  the  first.  Well, 
he  had  the  facts  in  that  last  letter,  didn't  he  ? " 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  with  a  smile. 

They  rose  to  return  to  the  Mansion,  roused  by  the 
stroke  of  midnight  from  the  clock  in  the  tower  of  the 
City  Hall. 

"From  to-night,  my  dear,"  he  said,  with  enthusiasm, 
"you  will  share  with  me  all  the  honours  and  responsi 
bilities  of  public  life." 

"  No,  my  love,  I  do  not  desire  any  part  in  public  life 
except  through  you.  You  are  my  world.  I  ask  no 


Wedding  Bells  in  the  Governor's  Mansion    469 

higher  gift  of  God  than  your  love,  whether  you  live  in  a 
Governor's  Mansion  or  the  humblest  cottage.  I  desire 
no  career  save  that  of  a  wife — your  wife" — she  hid  her 
face  on  his  breast  as  a  little  sob  caught  her  voice,  "and 
I  would  not  change  places  with  the  proudest  queen  that 
ever  wore  a  crown."  She  said  this  looking  up  into  his 
face  through  a  mist  of  tears. 

With  trembling  lips  and  dimmed  eyes  he  stooped  and 
kissed  her  as  he  replied : 

"And  I  had  rather  be  the  husband  of  such  a  woman 
than  to  be  the  ruler  of  the  world." 

THE    END 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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AA    001  259  685   4 


111  i  HI  ii  ill"*  ^2  2842 


